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MOODS. 


MOODS. 


BY 


LOUISA   M.   ALCOTT, 

AUTHOR    OF 

"WORK,  A  STORY  OF  EXPERIENCE,"  "LITTLE  WOMEN,"    "AN  OLD-FASHIONED 
GIRL,"  "LITTLE  MEN,"  "EIGHT  COUSINS,  "ROSE  IN  BLOOM,"   "UNDER 

THE    LILACS,"     "HOSPITAL  SKETCHES,"     "SILVER    PITCHERS," 

"AUNT  jo's  SCRAP-BAG." 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 

1882. 


Copyright,   1S81, 
BY  LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT. 


Add'l 

GIFT 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS: 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


H 


PEEFACE. 


WHEN  "Moods"  was  first  published,  an  interval 
of  some  years  having  then  elapsed  since  it  was 
written,  it  was  so  altered,  to  suit  the  taste  and  con 
venience  of  the  publisher,  that  the  original  purpose 
of  the  story  was  lost  sight  of,  and  marriage  appeared 
to  be  the  theme  instead  of  an  attempt  to  show  the 
mistakes  of  a  moody  nature,  guided  by  impulse,  not 
principle.  Of  the  former  subject  a  girl  of  eighteen 
could  know  but  little,  of  the  latter  most  girls  know 
a  good  deal ;  and  they  alone  among  my  readers  have 
divined  the  real  purpose  of  the  book  in  spite  of  its 
many  faults,  and  have  thanked  me  for  it. 

As  the  observation  and  experience  of  the  woman 
have  confirmed  much  that  the  instinct  and  imagi 
nation  of  the  girl  felt  and  tried  to  describe,  I  wish 
to  give  my  first  novel,  with  all  its  imperfections 
on  its  head,  a  place  among  its  more  successful  sis 
ters  ;  for  into  it  went  the  love,  labor,  and  enthusiasm 
that  no  later  book  can  possess. 

M880755 


vi  PREFACE. 

Several  chapters  have  been  omitted,  several  of 
the  original  ones  restored;  and  those  that  remain 
have  been  pruned  of  as  much  fine  writing  as  could 
be  done  without  destroying  the  youthful  spirit  of 
the  little  romance.  At  eighteen  death  seemed  the 
only  solution  for  Sylvia's  perplexities;  but  thirty 
years  later,  having  learned  the  possibility  of  finding 
happiness  after  disappointment,  and  making  love 
and  duty  go  hand  in  hand,  my  heroine  meets  a 
wiser  if  less  romantic  fate  than  in  the  former 
edition. 

Hoping  that  the  young  people  will  accept  the 
amendment,  and  the  elders  will  sympathize  with 
the  maternal  instinct  which  makes  unfortunate  chil 
dren  the  dearest,  I  reintroduce  my  first-born  to  the 
public  which  has  so  kindly  welcomed  my  later  off 
spring. 

L.  M.  ALCOTT. 

CONCORD,  January,  1882. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  SYLVIA 9 

II.  MOOR 31 

III.  DULL,  BUT  NECESSARY 43 

IV.  WARWICK 50 

V.  AFLOAT 69 

VI.  THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE  .  .  92 

VII.  A  GOLDEN  WEDDING 118 

VIII.  SERMONS 140 

IX.  WHY  SYLVIA  WAS  HAPPY 156 

X.  No 171 

XI.  YES 182 

XII.  WOOING 193 

XIII.  WEDDING 203 

XIV.  SYLVIA'S  HONEYMOON 211 

XV.  A  FIRESIDE  FETE  .  228 


vin  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTEB  PAGE 

XVI.     EARLY  AND  LATE 246 

XVII.    IN  THE  TWILIGHT 260 

XVIH.     ASLEEP  AND  AWAKE 279 

XIX.     WHAT  NEXT  ? 296 

XX.     A  YEAR 320 

XXI.     ADAM  KEEPS  HIS  PROMISE 335 

XXII.  AT  LAST  352 


MOODS. 


CHAPTEK  I. 

SYLVIA. 

Sylvia,  it  is  nine  o'clock !  Little  slug-a- 
bed,  don't  you  mean  to  get  up  to-day  ? "  said 
Miss  Yule,  bustling  into  her  sister's  room  with  the 
wide-awake  appearance  of  one  to  whom  sleep  was  a 
necessary  evil,  to  be  endured  and  gotten  over  as  soon 
as  possible. 

"  No  ;  why  should  I  ? "  And  Sylvia  turned  her  face 
away  from  the  flood  of  light  that  poured  into  the 
room  as  Prue  put  aside  the  curtains  and  flung  up  the 
window. 

"  Why  should  you  ?  What  a  question,  unless  you 
are  ill ;  I  was  afraid  you  would  suffer  for  that  long 
row  yesterday,  and  my  predictions  seldom  fail." 

"  I  am  not  suffering  from  any  cause  whatever,  and 
your  prediction  does  fail  this  time.  I  am  only  tired 
of  everybody  and  everything,  and  see  nothing  worth 
getting  up  for;  so  I  shall  just  stay  here  till  I  do. 
Please  put  the  curtain  down  and  leave  me  in  peace." 

Prue  had  dropped  her  voice  to  the  foreboding  tone 
so  irritating  to  nervous  persons  whether  sick  or  well, 


10  MOODS. 

and  Sylvia  laid  her  arm  across  her  eyes  with  an  im 
patient  gesture  as  she  spoke  sharply. 

"Nothing  worth  getting  up  for,"  cried  Prue,  like 
an  aggravating  echo.  "  Why,  child,  there  are  a  hun 
dred  pleasant  things  to  do  if  you  would  only  think 
so.  Now  don't  be  dismal  and  mope  away  this  lovely 
day.  Get  up  and  try  my  plan ;  have  a  good  breakfast, 
read  the  papers,  and  then  work  in  your  garden  before 
it  grows  too  warm ;  that  is  wholesome  exercise,  and 
you  Ve  neglected  it  sadly  of  late." 

"  I  don't  wish  any  breakfast ;  I  hate  newspapers, 
they  are  so  full  of  lies ;  I  'm  tired  of  the  garden,  for 
nothing  goes  right  this  year;  and  I  detest  taking 
exercise  merely  because  it's  wholesome.  No,  I'll 
not  get  up  for  that." 

"  Then  stay  in  the  house  and  draw,  read,  or  prac 
tise.  Sit  with  Max  in  the  studio ;  give  Miss  Hem 
ming  directions  about  your  summer  things,  or  go  into 
town  about  your  bonnet.  There  is  a  matinee,  try 
that ;  or  make  calls,  for  you  owe  fifty  at  least.  Now 
I  'm  sure  there 's  employment  enough  and  amuse 
ment  enough  for  any  reasonable  person." 

Prue  looked  triumphant,  but  Sylvia  was  not  a 
"  reasonable  person,"  and  went  on  in  her  former  de- 
spondingly  petulant  strain. 

"I'm  tired  of  drawing;  my  head  is  a  jumble  of 
other  people's  ideas  already,  and  Herr  Pedalsturm 
has  put  the  piano  out  of  tune.  Max  always  makes 
a  model  of  me  if  I  go  to  him,  and  I  don't  like  to  see 
my  eyes,  arms,  or  hair  in  all  his  pictures.  Miss 


SYLVIA.  11 

Hemming's  gossip  is  worse  than  fussing  over  new 
things  that  I  don't  need.  Bonnets  are  my  torment, 
and  matinees  are  wearisome,  for  people  whisper  and 
flirt  till  the  music  is  spoiled.  Making  calls  is  the 
worst  of  all ;  for  what  pleasure  or  profit  is  there  in 
running  from  place  to  place  to  tell  the  same  polite 
fibs  over  and  over  again,  and  listen  to  scandal  that 
makes  you  pity  or  despise  your  neighbors  ?  I  shall 
not  get  up  for  any  of  these  things." 

Prue  leaned  on  the  bedpost  meditating  with  an 
anxious  face  till  a  forlorn  hope  appeared  which  caused 
her  to  exclaim,  — 

"  Max  and  I  are  going  to  see  Geoffrey  Moor  this 
morning,  just  home  from  Switzerland,  where  his  poor 
sister  died,  you  know.  You  really  ought  to  come 
with  us  and  welcome  him,  for  though  you  can  hardly 
remember  him,  he  's  been  so  long  away,  still,  as  one 
of  the  family,  it  is  a  proper  compliment  on  your  part. 
The  drive  will  do  you  good,  Geoffrey  will  be  glad  to 
see  you,  it  is  a  lovely  old  place,  and  as  it  is  years 
since  you  saw  the  inside  of  the  house  you  cannot 
complain  that  you  are  tired  of  that  yet." 

"  Yes,  I  can,  for  it  will  never  seem  as  it  has  done, 
and  I  can  no  longer  go  where  I  please  now  that  a 
master's  presence  spoils  its  freedom  and  solitude  for 
me.  I  don't  know  him,  and  don't  care  to,  though  his 
name  is  so  familiar.  New  people  always  disappoint 
me,  especially  if  I  've  heard  them  praised  ever  since  I 
was  born.  I  shall  not  get  up  for  any  Geoffrey  Moor, 
so  that  bait  fails." 


12  MOODS. 

Sylvia  smiled  involuntarily  at  her  sister's  defeat, 
but  Prue  fell  back  upon  her  last  resource  in  times 
like  this.  With  a  determined  gesture  she  plunged 
her  hand  into  an  abysmal  pocket,  and  from  a  miscel 
laneous  collection  of  treasures  selected  a  tiny  vial, 
presenting  it  to  Sylvia  with  a  half-pleading,  half- 
authoritative  look  and  tone. 

"  I  '11  leave  you  in  peace  if  you  '11  only  take  a  dose 
of  chamomilla.  It  is  so  soothing,  that  instead  of  tir 
ing  yourself  with  all  manner  of  fancies,  you  '11  drop 
into  a  quiet  sleep,  and  by  noon  be  ready  to  get  up 
like  a  civilized  being.  Do  take  it,  dear;  just  four 
sugarplums,  and  I  'm  satisfied." 

Sylvia  received  the  bottle  with  a  docile  expression  ; 
but  the  next  minute  it  flew  out  of  the  window,  to  be 
shivered  on  the  walk  below,  while  she  said,  laughing 
like  a  wilful  creature  as  she  was,  — 

"  I  have  taken  it  in  the  only  way  I  ever  shall,  and 
the  sparrows  can  try  its  soothing  effects  with  me  ;  so 
be  satisfied." 

"  Very  well.  I  shall  send  for  Dr.  Baum,  for  I  'm 
convinced  that  you  are  going  to  be  ill.  I  shall  say 
no  more,  but  act  as  I  think  proper,  because  it 's  like 
talking  to  the  wind  to  reason  with  you  in  one  of 
these  perverse  fits." 

As  Prue  turned  away,  Sylvia  frowned  and  called 
after  her,  — 

"Spare  yourself  the  trouble,  for  Dr.  Baum  will 
follow  the  chamomilla,  if  you  bring  him  here.  What 
does  he  know  about  health,  —  a  fat  German,  looking 


SYLVIA.  13 

lager-beer  and  talking  sauer-kraut  ?  Bring  me  bona 
fide  sugarplums  and  I  '11  take  them ;  but  arsenic, 
mercury,  and  nightshade  are  not  to  my  taste." 

"  Would  you  feel  insulted  if  I  ask  whether  your 
breakfast  is  to  be  sent  up,  or  kept  waiting  till  you 
choose  to  come  down  ? " 

Prue  looked  rigidly  calm,  but  Sylvia  knew  that 
she  felt  hurt,  and  with  one  of  the  sudden  impulses 
which  ruled  her  the  frown  melted  to  a  smile,  as  draw 
ing  her  sister  down  she  kissed  her  in  her  most  loving 
manner. 

"  Dear  old  soul,  1 11  be  good  by  and  by,  but  now 
I  'm  tired  and  cross,  so  let  me  keep  out  of  every  one's 
way  and  drowse  myself  into  a  cheerier  frame  of  mind. 
I  want  nothing  but  solitude,  a  draught  of  water,  and 
a  kiss." 

Prue  was  mollified  at  once,  and  after  stirring  fussily 
about  for  several  minutes  gave  her  sister  all  she 
asked,  and  departed  to  the  myriad  small  cares  that 
made  her  happiness.  As  the  door  closed,  Sylvia 
sighed  a  long  sigh  of  relief,  and,  folding  her  arms 
under  her  head,  drifted  away  into  the  land  of  dreams, 
where  ennui  is  unknown. 

All  the  long  summer  morning  she  lay  wrapped  in 
sleeping  and  waking  dreams,  forgetful  of  the  world 
about  her,  till  her  brother  played  the  Wedding  March 
upon  her  door  on  his  way  to  lunch.  The  desire  to 
avenge  the  sudden  downfall  of  a  lovely  castle  in  the 
air  roused  Sylvia,  and  sent  her  down  to  skirmish  with 
Max.  Before  she  could  say  a  word,  however,  Prue 


14  MOODS. 

began  to  talk  in  a  steady  stream,  for  the  good  soul 
had  a  habit  of  jumbling  news,  gossip,  private  opinions, 
and  public  affairs  into  a  colloquial  hodge-podge,  that 
was  often  as  trying  to  the  intellects  as  the  risibles  of 
her  hearers. 

"  Sylvia,  we  had  a  charming  call,  and  Geoffrey  sent 
his  love  to  you.  I  asked  him  over  to  dinner,  and  we 
shall  dine  at  six,  because  then  my  father  can  be  with 
us.  I  shall  have  to  go  to  town  first,  for  there  are  a 
dozen  things  suffering  for  attention.  You  can't  wear 
a  round  hat  and  lawn  jackets  without  a  particle  of 
set  all  summer.  I  want  some  things  for  dinner,  — 
and  the  carpet  must  be  got.  What  a  lovely  one 
Geoffrey  had  in  the  library  !  Then  I  must  see  if  poor 
Mrs.  Beck  has  had  her  leg  comfortably  off,  find  out 
if  Freddy  Lennox  is  dead,  and  order  home  the  mos 
quito  nettings.  Now  don't  read  all  the  afternoon, 
and  be  ready  to  receive  any  one  who  may  come  if  I 
should  get  belated." 

The  necessity  of  disposing  of  a  suspended  mouthful 
produced  a  lull,  and  Sylvia  seized  the  moment  to  ask 
in  a  careless  way,  intended  to  bring  her  brother  out 
upon  his  favorite  topic,  — 

"  How  did  you  find  your  saint,  Max  ? " 

"  The  same  sunshiny  soul  as  ever,  though  he  has 
had  enough  to  make  him  old  and  grave  before  his 
time.  He  is  just  what  we  need  in  our  neighborhood, 
and  particularly  in  our  house,  for  we  are  a  dismal  set 
at  times,  and  he  will  do  us  all  a  world  of  good." 

"  What  will  become  of  me,  with  a  pious,  prosy,  per- 


SYLVIA.  15 

feet  creature  eternally  haunting  the  house  and  exhort 
ing  me  on  the  error  of  my  ways  ! "  cried  Sylvia. 

"  Don't  disturb  yourself ;  he  is  not  likely  to  take 
much  notice  of  you ;  and  it  is  not  for  an  indolent, 
freakish  midge  to  scoff  at  a  man  whom  she  does  not 
know,  and  could  n't  appreciate  if  she  did,"  was  Max's 
lofty  reply. 

"  I  rather  liked  the  appearance  of  the  saint,  how 
ever,"  said  Sylvia,  with  an  expression  of  naughty 
malice,  as  she  began  her  lunch. 

"Why,  where  did  you  see  him?"  exclaimed  her 
brother. 

"  I  went  over  there  yesterday  to  take,  a  farewell  run 
in  the  neglected  garden  before  he  came.  I  knew  he 
was  expected,  but  not  that  he  was  here ;  and  when  I 
saw  the  house  open,  I  slipped  in  and  peeped  wher 
ever  I  liked.  You  are  right,  Prue ;  it  is  a  lovely  old 
place." 

"Now  I  know  you  did  something  dreadfully  un 
ladylike  and  improper.  Put  me  out  of  suspense,  I 
beg  of  you." 

Prue's  distressful  face  and  Max's  surprise  produced 
an  inspiring  effect  upon  Sylvia,  who  continued,  with 
an  air  of  demure  satisfaction,  — 

"  I  strolled  about,  enjoying  myself,  till  I  got  into  the 
library,  and  there  I  rummaged,  for  it  was  a  charming 
place,  and  I  was  happy  as  only  those  are  who  love 
books,  and  feel  their  influence  in  a  room  whose  finest 
ornaments  they  are." 

"  I  hope  Moor  came  in  and  found  you  trespassing." 


16  MOODS. 

"  "No,  I  went  out  and  caught  him  playing.  When 
I  'd  stayed  as  long  as  I  dared,  and  borrowed  a  very 
interesting  book  — 

"  Sylvia !  did  you  really  take  one  without  asking  ? " 
cried  Prue,  looking  almost  as  much  alarmed  as  if  she 
had  stolen  the  spoons. 

"  Yes  ;  why  not  ?  I  can  apologize  prettily,  and  it 
will  open  the  way  for  more.  I  intend  to  browse  over 
that  library  for  the  next  six  months." 

"  But  it  was  such  a  liberty,  —  so  rude,  so  —  dear, 
dear ;  and  he  as  fond  and  careful  of  his  books  as  if 
they  were  his  children !  Well,  I  wash  my  hands  of 
it,  and  am  prepared  for  anything  now  ! " 

Max  enjoyed  Sylvia's  pranks  too  much  to  reprove, 
so  he  only  laughed  while  one  sister  lamented  and  the 
other  placidly  went  on,  — 

"  When  I  had  put  the  book  nicely  in  my  pocket, 
Prue,  I  walked  into  the  garden.  But  before  I  'd 
picked  a  single  flower,  I  heard  little  Tilly  laugh  be 
hind  the  hedge  and  some  strange  voice  talking  to  her. 
So  I  hopped  upon  a  roller  to  see,  and  nearly  tumbled 
off  again;  for  there  was  a  man  lying  on  the  grass, 
with  the  gardener's  children  rioting  over  him.  Will 
was  picking  his  pockets,  and  Tilly  eating  strawberries 
out  of  his  hat,  often  thrusting  one  into  the  mouth  of 
her  long  neighbor,  who  always  smiled  when  the  little 
hand  came  fumbling  at  his  lips.  You  ought  to  have 
seen  the  pretty  picture,  Max." 

"  Did  he  see  the  interesting  picture  on  your  side  of 
the  wall  ? " 


SYLVIA.  17 

"No ;  I  was  just  thinking  what  friendly  eyes  he  had, 
listening  to  his  pleasant  talk  with  the  little  folks,  and 
watching  how  they  nestled  to  him  as  if  he  were  a 
girl,  when  Tilly  looked  up  and  cried,  '  I  see  Silver ! ' 
So  I  ran  away,  expecting  to  have  them  all  come 
racing  after.  But  no  one  appeared,  and  I  only  heard 
a  laugh  instead  of  the  'stop  thief  that  I  deserved." 

"  If  I  had  time,  I  should  convince  you  of  the  im 
propriety  of  such  wild  actions ;  as  I  have  n't,  I  can 
only  implore  you  never  to  do  so  again  on  Geoffrey's 
premises,"  said  Prue,  rising  as  the  carriage  drove 
round. 

"  I  can  safely  promise  that,"  answered  Sylvia,  with 
a  dismal  shake  of  the  head,  as  she  leaned  listlessly 
from  the  window  till  her  brother  and  sister  were  gone. 

At  the  appointed  time  Moor  entered  Mr.  Yule's 
hospitably  open  door ;  but  no  one  came  to  meet  him, 
and  the  house  was  as  silent  as  if  nothing  human  in 
habited  it.  He  divined  the  cause  of  this,  having  met 
Prue  and  Max  going  townward  some  hours  before,  and 
saying  to  himself,  "  The  boat  is  late,"  he  disturbed  no 
one,  but  strolled  into  the  drawing-rooms  and  looked 
about  him.  Being  one  of  those  who  seldom  find  time 
heavy  on  their  hands,  he  amused  himself  with  observ 
ing  what  changes  had  been  made  during  his  absence. 
His  journey  round  the  apartments  was  not  a  long  one, 
for,  coming  to  an  open  window,  he  paused  with  an 
expression  of  mingled  wonder  and  amusement. 

A  pile  of  cushions,  pulled  from  chair  and  sofa,  lay 
before  the  long  window,  looking  very  like  a  newly  de- 

2 


18  MOODS. 

serted  nest.  A  warm-hued  picture  lifted  from  the 
wall  stood  in  a  streak  of  sunshine ;  a  half-cleared  leaf 
of  fruit  lay  on  a  taboret,  and  beside  it,  with  a  red  stain 
on  its  titlepage,  appeared  the  stolen  book.  At  sight 
of  this,  Moor  frowned,  caught  up  his  desecrated  dar 
ling,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  But  as  he  took  another 
glance  at  the  various  indications  of  what  had  evi 
dently  been  a  solitary  revel  very  much  after  his  own 
heart,  he  relented,  laid  back  the  book,  and,  putting 
aside  the  curtain  floating  in  the  wind,  looked  out  into 
the  garden,  attracted  thither  by  the  sound  of  a  spade. 

A  girl  was  at  work  near  by  ;  a  slender  creature  in 
a  short  linen  frock,  stout-  boots,  and  a  wide-brimmed 
hat,  drawn  low  over  the  forehead.  Whistling  softly, 
she  dug  with  active  gestures ;  and,  having  made  the 
necessary  cavity,  set  a  shrub,  filled  up  the  hole,  trod 
it  down  scientifically,  and  then  fell  back  to  survey 
the  success  of  her  labors.  But  something  was  amiss, 
something  had  been  forgotten,  for  suddenly  up  came 
the  shrub,  and,  seizing  a  wheelbarrow  that  stood  near 
by,  away  rattled  the  girl  round  the  corner  out  of 
sight.  Moor  smiled  at  this  impetuosity,  and  awaited 
her  return  with  interest,  suspecting  who  it  was. 

Presently  up  the  path  she  came,  with  head  down 
and  steady  pace,  trundling  a  barrow  full  of  richer 
earth,  surmounted  by  a  watering-pot.  Never  stop 
ping  for  breath,  she  fell  to  work  again,  enlarged  the 
hole,  flung  in  the  loam,  poured  in  the  water,  reset 
the  shrub,  and,  when  the  last  stamp  and  pat  were 
given,  performed  a  little  dance  of  triumph  about  it,  at 


SYLVIA.  19 

the  close  of  which  she  pulled  off  her  hat  and  began 
to  fan  her  heated  face.  The  action  caused  the  ob 
server  to  lean  and  look  again,  thinking,  as  he  recog 
nized  the  energetic  worker  with  a  smile,  "  What  a 
changeful  thing  it  is !  haunting  one's  premises  unseen, 
and  stealing  one's  books  unsuspected ;  dreaming  one 
half  the  day  and  working  hard  the  other  half.  What 
will  happen  next  ? " 

Holding  the  curtain  between  the  window  and  him 
self,  Moor  peeped  through  the  semi-transparent  screen, 
enjoying  the  little  episode  immensely.  Sylvia  fanned 
and  rested  a  few  minutes,  then  went  up  and  down 
among  the  flowers,  often  pausing  to  break  a  dead  leaf, 
to  brush  away  some  harmful  insect,  or  lift  some  strug 
gling  plant  into  the  light ;  moving  among  them  as  if 
akin  to  them,  and  cognizant  of  their  sweet  wants. 
If  she  had  seemed  strong-armed  and  sturdy  as  a  boy 
before,  now  she  was  tender-fingered  as  a  woman,  and 
went  humming  here  and  there  like  any  happy-hearted 
bee. 

"  Curious  child  I  "  thought  Moor,  watching  the  sun 
shine  glitter  on  her  uncovered  head,  and  listening  to 
the  air  she  left  half  sung.  "  I  Ve  a  great  desire  to 
step  out  and  see  how  she  will  receive  me.  Not  like 
any  other  girl,  I  fancy." 

But,  before  he  could  execute  his  design,  the  roll 
of  a  carriage  was  heard  in  the  avenue,  and  pausing 
an  instant,  with  head  erect  like  a  startled  doe,  Syl 
via  turned  and  vanished,  dropping  flowers  as  she  ran. 
Mr.  Yule,  accompanied  by  his  son  and  daughter,  caine 


20  MOODS. 

hurrying  in  with  greetings,  explanations,  and  apolo 
gies,  and  in  a  moment  the  'house  was  full  of  a  pleas 
ant  stir.  Steps  went  up  and  down,  voices  echoed 
through  the  rooms,  savory  odors  burst  forth  from 
below,  and  doors  swung  in  the  wind,  as  if  the  spell 
was  broken  and  the  sleeping  palace  had  wakened  with 
a  word. 

Prue  made  a  hasty  toilet  and  harassed  the  cook  to 
the  verge  of  spontaneous  combustion,  while  Max  and 
his  father  devoted  themselves  to  their  guest.  Just  as 
dinner  was  announced  Sylvia  came  in,  as  calm  and 
cool  as  if  wheelbarrows  were  myths  and  short  gowns 
unknown.  She  welcomed  the  new-comer  with  a  quiet 
hand-shake,  a  shy  greeting,  and  a  look  that  seemed  to 
say,  "  Wait  a  little ;  I  take  no  friends  on  trust." 

Moor  watched  her  with  unusual  interest,  for  he 
remembered  the  freakish  child  he  left  five  years 
ago  better  than  she  remembered  him.  She  was  a 
little  creature  still,  looking  hardly  fifteen  though  two 
years  older..  A  delicate  yet  beautifully  moulded  fig 
ure,  as  the  fine  hands  showed,  and  the  curve  of  the 
shoulder  under  the  pale  violet  dress  that  was  both 
exquisitely  simple  and  becoming.  The  face  was  full 
of  contradictions  ;  youthful,  maidenly,  and  intelligent, 
yet  touched  with  the  melancholy  of  a  temperament 
too  mixed  to  make  life  happy.  The  mouth  was  sweet 
and  tender,  the  brow  touched  with  that  indescribable 
something  which  suggests  genius,  and  there  was  much 
pride  in  the  spirited  carriage  of  the  small  head  with 
its  hair  of  wavy  gold  gathered  into  a  violet  snood 


SYLVIA.  21 

whence  little  tendrils  kept  breaking  loose  to  dance 
about  her  forehead  or  hang  upon  her  neck.  But  the 
eyes  were  by  turns  eager,  absent,  or  sad,  with  now 
and  then  an  upward  look  that  showed  how  dark  and 
lustrous  they  were.  A  most  significant  but  not  a 
beautiful  face,  because  of  its  want  of  harmony,  for 
the  deep  eyes  among  their  fair  surroundings  disturbed 
the  sight  as  a  discord  jars  upon  the  ear;  even  when 
they  smiled  the  shadow  of  black  lashes  seemed  to  fill 
them  with  a  gloom  never  quite  lost.  The  voice  too, 
which  should  have  been  a  girlish  treble,  was  full  and 
low  as  a  matured  woman's,  with  a  silvery  ring  to  it  oc 
casionally,  as  if  another  and  a  blither  creature  spoke. 

All  through  dinner,  though  she  sat  as  silent  as  a 
well-bred  child,  she  looked  and  listened  with  an  ex 
pression  of  keen  intelligence  that  children  do  not 
wear,  and  sometimes  smiled  to  herself,  as  if  she  saw 
or  heard  something  that  pleased  and  interested  her. 
When  they  rose  from  table  she  followed  Prue  up 
stairs,  quite  forgetting  the  disarray  in  which  the 
drawing-room  was  left.  The  gentlemen  took  posses 
sion  before  either  sister  returned,  and  Max's  annoy 
ance  found  vent  in  a  philippic  against  oddities  in 
general  and  Sylvia  in  particular ;  but  his  father  and 
friend  sat  in  the  cushionless  chairs,  and  pronounced 
the  scene  amusingly  novel.  Prue  appeared  in  the 
midst  of  the  laugh,  and,  having  discovered  other  de 
linquencies  above,  her  patience  was  exhausted,  and 
her  regrets  found  no  check  in  the  presence  of  so  old  a 
friend  as  Moor. 


22  MOODS. 

"  Something  must  be  done  about  that  child,  father, 
for  she  is  getting  entirely  beyond  my  control.  If  I 
attempt  to  make  her  study,  she  writes  poetry  instead 
of  her  exercises,  draws  caricatures  instead  of  sketching 
properly,  and  bewilders  her  music-teacher  by  asking 
questions  about  Beethoven  and  Mendelssohn,  as  if  they 
were  personal  friends  of  his.  If  I  beg  her  to  take 
exercise,  she  rides  like  an  Amazon  all  over  the  Island, 
grubs  in  the  garden  as  if  for  her  living,  or  goes  pad 
dling  about  the  bay  till  I  'm  distracted  lest  the  tide 
should  carry  her  out  to  sea.  She  is  so  wanting  in 
moderation  she  gets  ill,  and  when  I  give  her  proper 
medicines  she  flings  them  out  of  the  window,  and 
threatens  to  send  that  worthy,  Dr.  Baum,  after  them. 
Yet  she  must  need  something  to  set  her  right,  for  she 
is  either  overflowing  with  unnatural  spirits  or  melan 
choly  enough  to  break  one's  heart." 

"  What  have  you  done  with  the  little  black  sheep 
of  my  flock,  —  not  banished  her,  I  hope  ? "  said  Mr. 
Yule  placidly,  ignoring  all  complaints. 

"She  is  in  the  garden,  attending  to  some  of  her 
disagreeable  pets,  I  fancy.  If  you  are  going  out  there 
to  smoke,  please  send  her  in,  Max ;  I  want  her." 

As  Mr.  Yule  was  evidently  yearning  for  his  after- 
dinner  nap,  and  Max  for  his  cigar,  Moor  followed  his 
friend,  and  they  stepped  through  the  window  into 
the  garde"h,  now  lovely  with  the  fading  glow  of  a  soft 
spring  sunset. 

"  You  must  know  that  this  peculiar  little  sister  of 
mine  clings  to  some  of  her  childish  beliefs  and  pleas- 


SYLVIA.  23 

ures  in  spite  of  Prue's  preaching  and  my  raillery," 
began  Max,  after  a  refreshing  whiff  or  two.  "  She  is 
overflowing  with  love  and  good-will,  but  being  too  shy 
or  too  proud  to  offer  it  to  her  fellow-creatures,  she 
expends  it  upon  the  necessitous  inhabitants  of  earth, 
air,  and  water  with  the  most  charming  philanthropy. 
Her  dependants  are  neither  beautiful  nor  very  inter 
esting,  nor  is  she  sentimentally  enamored  of  them ; 
but  the  more  ugly  and  desolate  the  creature,  the 
more  devoted  is  she.  Look  at  her  now ;  most  young 
ladies  would  have  hysterics  over  any  one  of  those 
pets  of  hers." 

Moor  looked  and  thought  the  group  a  very  pretty 
one,  though  a  plump  toad  sat  at  Sylvia's  feet,  a  roly- 
poly  caterpillar  was  walking  up  her  sleeve,  a  blind 
bird  chirped  on  her  shoulder,  bees  buzzed  harmlessly 
about  her  head,  as  if  they  mistook  her  for  a  flower, 
and  in  her  hand  a  little  field  mouse  was  breathing 
its  short  life  away.  Any  tender-hearted  girl  might 
have  stood  thus  surrounded  by  helpless  things  that 
pity  had  endeared,  but  few  would  have  regarded  them 
with  an  expression  like  that  which  Sylvia  wore. 
Figure,  posture,  and  employment  were  so  childlike  in 
their  innocent  unconsciousness,  that  the  contrast  was 
all  the  more  strongly  marked  between  them  and  the 
tender  thoughtfulness  that  made  her  face  singularly 
attractive  with  the  charm  of  dawning  womanhood. 
Moor  spoke  before  Max  could  dispose  of  his  smoke. 

"This  is  a  great  improvement  upon  the  boudoir 
full  of  lapdogs,  worsted-work,  and  novels,  Miss  Syl- 


24  MOODS. 

via.  May  I  ask  if  you  feel  no  repugnance  to  some 
of  your  patients ;  or  is  your  charity  strong  enough  to 
beautify  them  all  ? " 

"  I  dislike  many  people,  but  few  animals,  because 
however  ugly  I  pity  them,  and  whatever  I  pity  I  am 
sure  to  love.  It  may  be  silly,  but  I  think  it  does  me 
good ;  and  till  I  am  wise  enough  to  help  my  fellow- 
beings,  I  try  to  do  my  duty  to  these  humbler  suffer 
ers,  and  find  them  both  grateful  and  affectionate." 

There  was  something  very  winning  in  the  girl's 
manner  as  she  spoke,  touching  the  little  creature  in 
her  hand  almost  as  tenderly  as  if  it  had  been  a  child. 
It  showed  the  new-comer  another  phase  of  this  many- 
sided  character;  and  while  Sylvia  related  the  histories 
of  her  pets  at  his  request,  he  was  enjoying  that  finer 
history  which  every  ingenuous  soul  writes  on  its  own 
er's  countenance  for  gifted  eyes  to  read  and  love.  As 
she  paused,  the  little  mouse  lay  stark  and  still  in  her 
gentle  hand ;  and  though  they  smiled  at  themselves, 
both  young  men  felt  like  boys  again  as  they  helped 
her  scoop  a  grave  among  the  pansies,  owning  the 
beauty  of  compassion,  though  she  showed  it  to  them 
in  such  a  simple  -shape. 

Then  Max  delivered  his  message,  and  Sylvia  went 
away  to  receive  Prue's  lecture,  with  outward  meek 
ness,  but  such  an  absent  mind  that  the  words  of  wis 
dom  went  by  her  like  the  wind. 

"  Now  come  and  take  our  twilight  stroll,  while  Max 
keeps  Mr.  Moor  in  he  studio  and  Prue  prepares 
another  exhortation,"  said  Sylvia,  as  her  father  woke ; 


SYLVIA.  25 

and,  taking  his  arm,  they  paced  along  the  wide  piazza 
that  encircled  the  whole  house. 

"  Will  father  do  me  a  little  favor  ? " 

"  That  is  all  he  lives  for,  dear." 

"  Then  his  life  is  a  very  successful  one."  And  the 
girl  folded  her  other  hand  over  that  already  on  his 
arm.  Mr.  Yule  shook  his  head  with  a  regretful  sigh, 
but  asked  benignly,  — 

"  What  shall  I  do  for  my  little  daughter  ? " 

"  Forbid  Max  to  execute  a  plot  with  which  he 
threatens  me.  He  says  he  will  bring  every  gentle 
man  he  knows  (and  that  is  a  great  many)  to  the  house, 
and  make  it  so  agreeable  that  they  will  keep  coming ; 
for  he  insists  that  I  need  amusement,  and  nothing 
will  be  so  entertaining  as  a  lover  or  two.  Please 
tell  him  not  to,  for  I  don't  want  any  lovers  yet." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  her  father,  much  amused  at 
her  twilight  confidences. 

"  I  'm  afraid.  Love  is  so  cruel  to  some  people,  I 
feel  as  if  it  would  be  to  me,  for  I  am  always  in  ex 
tremes,  and  continually  going  wrong  while  trying  to 
go  right.  Love  bewilders  the  wisest,  and  it  would 
make  me  quite  blind  or  mad,  I  know  ;  therefore  I  'd 
rather  have  nothing  to  do  with  it  for  a  long,  long 
while." 

"Then  Max  shall  be  forbidden  to  bring  a  single 
specimen.  I  very  much  prefer  to  keep  you  as  you 
are.  And  yet  you  may  be  happier  to  do  as  others  do ; 
try  it,  if  you  like,  my  dear." 

"  But  I  can't  do  as  others  do ;  I  've  tried  and  failed. 


26  MOODS. 

Last  winter,  when  Prue  made  me  go  about,  though 
people  probably  thought  me  a  stupid  little  thing,  mop 
ing  in  corners,  I  was  enjoying  myself  in  my  own 
way,  and  making  discoveries  that  have  been  very  use 
ful  ever  since.  I  know  I  'in  whimsical,  and  hard  to 
please,  and  have  no  doubt  the  fault  was  in  myself, 
but  I  was  disappointed  in  nearly  every  one  I  met, 
though  I  went  into  what  Prue  calls  '  our  best  society.' 
The  girls  seemed  all  made  on  the  same  pattern ;  they 
all  said,  did,  thought,  and  wore  about  the  same  things, 
and  knowing  one  was  as  good  as  knowing  a  dozen. 
Jessie  Hope  was  the  only  one  I  cared  much  for,  and 
she  is  so  pretty,  she  seems  made  to  be  looked  at  and 
loved." 

"  How  did  you  find  the  young  gentlemen,  Sylvia  ? " 
"  Still  worse ;  for,  though  lively  enough  among 
themselves,  they  never  found  it  worth  their  while  to 
offer  us  any  conversation  but  such  as  was  very  like 
the  champagne  and  ice-cream  they  brought  us, — 
sparkling,  sweet,  and  unsubstantial.  Almost  all  of 
them  wore  the  superior  air  they  put  on  before  women, 
an  air  that  says  as  plainly  as  words,  '  I  may  ask  you 
and  I  may  not/  Now  that  is  very  exasperating  to 
those  who  care  no  more  for  them  than  so  many  grass 
hoppers,  and  I  often  longed  to  take  the  conceit  out  of 
them  by  telling  some  of  the  criticisms  passed  upon 
them  by  the  amiable  young  ladies  who  looked  as  if 
waiting  to  say  meekly,  *  Yes,  thank  you/  " 

"Don't   excite   yourself,  my  dear;   it  is  all  very 
lamentable  and  laughable,  but  we  must  submit  till 


SYLVIA.  27 

the  world  learns  better.  There  are  often  excellent 
young  persons  among  the  'grasshoppers/  and  if  you 
cared  to  look  you  might  find  a  pleasant  friend  here 
and  there,"  said  Mr.  Yule,  leaning  a  little  toward  his 
son's  view  of  the  matter. 

"  No,  I  cannot  even  do  that  without  being  laughed 
at ;  for  no  sooner  do  I  mention  the  word  friendship 
than  people  nod  wisely  and  look  as  if  they  said,  '  Oh, 
yes,  every  one  knows  what  that  sort  of  thing  amounts 
to.'  I  should  like  a  friend,  father ;  some  one  beyond 
home,  because  he  would  be  newer ;  a  man  (old  or 
young,  I  don't  care  which),  because  men  go  where 
they  like,  see  things  with  their  own  eyes,  and  have 
more  to  tell  if  they  choose.  I  want  a  person  simple, 
wise,  and  entertaining ;  and  I  think  I  should  make  a 
very  grateful  friend  if  such  an  one  was  kind  enough 
to  like  me." 

"  I  think  you  would,  and  perhaps  if  you  try  to  be 
more  like  others  you  will  find  friends  as  they  do,  and 
so  be  happy,  Sylvia." 

"  I  cannot  be  like  others,  and  their  friendships 
would  not  satisfy  me.  I  don't  try  to  be  odd ;  I  long 
to  be  quiet  and  satisfied,  but  I  cannot ;  and  when  I 
do  what  Prue  calls  wild  things,  it  is  not  because  I  am 
thoughtless  or  idle,  but  because  I  am  trying  to  be 
good  and  happy.  The  old  ways  fail,  so  I  attempt  new 
ones,  hoping  they  will  succeed ;  but  they  don't,  and 
I  still  go  looking  and  longing  for  happiness,  yet  al 
ways  failing  to  find  it,  till  sometimes  I  think  I  am  a 
born  disappointment." 


28  MOODS. 

"Perhaps  love  would  bring  the  happiness,  my 
dear  ? " 

"  I  'm  afraid  not ;  but,  however  that  may  be,  I  shall 
never  go  running  about  for  a  lover  as  half  my  mates 
do.  When  the  true  one  comes  I  shall  know  him,  love 
him  at  once,  and  cling  to  him  forever,  no  matter  what 
may  happen.  Till  then  I  want  a  friend,  and  I  will 
find  one  if  I  can.  Don't  you  believe  there  may  be 
real  and  simple  friendships  between  men  and  women 
without  falling  into  this  everlasting  sea  of  love  ? " 

Mr.  Yule  was  laughing  quietly  under  cover  of  the 
darkness,  but  composed  himself  to  answer  gravely,  — 

"  Yes,  for  some  of  the  most  beautiful  and  famous 
friendships  have  been  such,  and  I  see  no  reason  why 
there  may  not  be  again.  Look  about,  Sylvia,  make 
yourself  happy ;  and,  whether  you  find  friend  or  lover, 
remember  there  is  always  the  old  Papa,  glad  to  do  his 
best  for  you  in  both  capacities." 

Sylvia's  hand  crept  to  her  father's  shoulder,  and  her 
voice  was  full  of  daughterly  affection,  as  she  said,  — 

''  I  '11  have  no  lover  but  '  the  old  Papa '  for  a  long 
while  yet.  But  I  will  look  about,  and  if  I  am  fortu 
nate  enough  to  find  and  good  enough  to  keep  the  per 
son  I  want,  I  shall  be  very  happy ;  for,  father,  I  really 
think  I  need  a  friend." 

Here  Max  called  his  sister  in  to  sing  to  them,  a 
demand  that  would  have  been  refused  but  for  a  prom 
ise  to  Prue  to  behave  her  best  as  an  atonement  for 
past  pranks.  Stepping  in,  she  sat  down  and  gave 
Moor  another  surprise,  as  from  her  slender  throat  there 


SYLVIA.  29 

came  a  voice  whose  power  and  pathos  made  a  tragedy 
of  the  simple  ballad  she  was  singing. 

"  Why  did  you  choose  that -plaintive  thing,  all  about 
love,  despair,  and  death  ?  It  quite  breaks  one's  heart 
to  hear  it,"  said  Prue,  pausing  in  a  mental  estimate  of 
her  morning's  shopping. 

"  It  came  into  my  head,  and  so  I  sung  it.  Now  I  '11 
try  another,  for  I  am  bound  to  please  you —  if  I  can." 
And  she  broke  out  again  with  an  airy  melody  as  ju 
bilant  as  if  a  lark  had  mistaken  moonlight  for  the 
dawn  and  soared  skyward,  singing  as  it  went.  So 
blithe  and  beautiful  were  both  voice  arid  song,  they 
caused  a  sigh  of  pleasure,  a  sensation  of  keen  delight 
in  the  listener,  and  seemed  to  gift  the  singer  with  an 
unsuspected  charm.  As  she  ended  Sylvia  turned 
about,  and,  seeing  the  satisfaction  of  their  guest  in  his 
face,  prevented  him  from  expressing  it  in  words  by 
saying,  in  her  frank  way,  — 

"Never  mind  the  compliments.  I  know  my  voice 
is  good,  for  that  you  may  thank  nature ;  that  it  is 
well  trained,  for  that  praise  Herr  Pedalsturm ;  and 
that  you  have  heard  it  at  all,  you  owe  to  my  desire  to 
atone  for  certain  trespasses  of  yesterday  and  to-day, 
because  I  seldom  sing  before  strangers." 

"  Allow  me  to  offer  my  hearty  thanks  to  Nature, 
Pedalsturm,  and  Penitence,  and  also  to  hope  that  in 
time  I  may  be  regarded,  not  as  a  stranger,  but  a 
neighbor  and  a  friend." 

Something  in  the  gentle  emphasis  of  the  last  word 
struck  pleasantly  on  the  girl's  ear,  and  seemed  to  an- 


30  MOODS. 

swer  an  unspoken  longing.  She  looked  up  at  him 
with  a  searching  glance,  appeared  to  find  some  '  assur 
ance  given  by  looks/  and  as  a  smile  broke  over  her 
face,  she  offered  her  hand,  as  if  obeying  a  sudden  im 
pulse,  and  said,  half  to  him,  half  to  herself,  — 
"  I  think  I  have  found  the  friend  already." 


MOOR.  31 


CHAPTER  II 

MOOR. 

MOOR  was  pacing  to  and  fro  along  the  avenue  of 
overarching  elms  that  led  to  the  old  Manse. 
The  May  sunshine  flickered  on  his  uncovered  head, 
a  soft  wind  sighed  among  the  leaves,  and  earth  and 
sky  were  full  of  the  vernal  loveliness  of  spring.  But 
he  was  very  lonely,  and  this  home-coming  full  of  pain, 
for  he  had  left  a  grave  behind  him,  and  the  old  house 
was  peopled  only  with  tender  memories  of  parents 
and  sister,  whose  loss  left  him  a  solitary  man.  The 
pleasant  rooms  were  so  silent,  the  dear  pictured  faces 
so  eloquent,  the  former  duties  and  delights  so  irk 
some  with  none  to  share  them,  that  he  was  often 
drawn  to  seek  forgetfulness  in  the  sympathy  and  so 
ciety  without  which  his  heart  was  hungry  and  life 
barren. 

Nature  always  comforted  him,  and  to  her  he  turned, 
sure  of  welcome,  strength,  and  solace.  He  was  en 
joying  this  wordless,  yet  grateful  communion  as  he 
walked  along  the  grass-grown  path  where  he  had 
played  as  a  boy,  dreamed  as  a  youth,  and  now  trod 
as  a  man,  wondering  who  would  come  to  share  and 
love  it  with  him,  since  he  was  free  now  to  live  for 
himself. 


32  MOODS. 

For  an  hour  he  had  lingered  there,  letting  thought, 
memory,  and  fancy  weave  themselves  into  a  little 
Song  called  "  Waiting,"  and  was  about  to  go  in  and 
put  it  upon  paper,  when,  as  he  paused  on  the  wide 
door-stone  for  a  last  look  down  the  green  vista,  a 
figure  appeared  coming  from  the  sunshine  into  the 
shadows  that  made  the  leafy  arches  cool  and  calm  as 
a  cathedral  aisle. 

He  knew  it  at  once,  and  went  to  meet  it  so  gladly 
that  his  face  gave  a  welcome  before  he  spoke.  It 
was  Sylvia  with  a  book  in  her  hand,  the  end  of  her 
mantle  full  of  fresh  green  things,  and  her  eyes  both 
shy  and  merry  as  she  said  when  they  met,  — 

"Prue  stopped  at  the  Lodge  to  see  Mrs.  Dodd,  and 
I  ran  on  to  beg  pardon  for  stealing  this,  as  she  bade 
me ;  also  to  ask  if  I  could  have  the  other  volumes, 
which  I  am  longing  to  read." 

"  With  pleasure,  and  anything  else  in  my  library. 
What  made  you  choose  this?"  asked  Moor,  turning 
the  pages  of  "Wilhelm  Meister"  with  an  inquiring 
smile  as  they  went  on  together. 

"  I  heard  some  people  talking  about  '  Mignon,'  and 
I  wanted  to  know  who  she  was  ;  but  when  I  asked  for 
the  book  Papa  said,  'Tut, child,  you  are  too  young  for 
that  yet.'  It  always  vexes  me  to  be  called  young, 
because  I  feel  very  old  ;  I  was  seventeen  in  April, 
though  no  one  will  believe  it." 

Sylvia  pushed  back  her  hat  as  she  spoke,  and  lifted 
her  head  with  a  disdainful  little  air  at  the  stupid 
ity  of  her  elders,  looking  very  young  indeed  with 


MOOR.  33 

her  lap  full  of  the  pretty  weeds  and  mosses  children 
love. 

"I.  was  just  wishing  for  a  playfellow,  for  Tilly  is 
rather  too  young.  If  your  mature  age  does  not  pre 
vent  your  enjoying  what  I  can  offer,  we  may  amuse 
ourselves  till  Miss  Prue  arrives.  Will  you  go  in  and 
rummage  the  library,  or  shall  we  roam  about  and 
enjoy  the  fine  weather  ? "  asked  Moor,  finding  his 
guest  much  to  his  liking,  she  was  in  such  harmony 
with  time  and  place. 

"  Let  us  go  into  the  garden ;  I  used  to  walk  there 
very  often,  and  like  it  very  much,  it  is  so  old-fashioned 
and  well  kept,"  answered  Sylvia,  leading  the  way  to  a 
gate  in  the  hawthorn  hedge,  beginning  to  redden  in 
the  late  May  sunshine. 

Just  beyond  lay  trim  beds  of  herbs ;  in  a  warm 
corner  stood  a  row  of  beehives,  and  before  them, 
watching  to  see  the  busy  people  go  in  and  out,  sat  a 
little  child,  humming  in  pretty  mimicry  of  the  bees, 
who  seemed  to  take  her  for  a  flower,  so  harmlessly 
did  they  buzz  about  her. 

Hearing  steps,  she  turned,  and  at  sight  of  Sylvia 
uttered  a  cry  of  joy,  scrambled  up,  and  came  running 
with  outstretched  arms,  for  "  Silver "  was  her  dearest 
playmate. 

The  girl  caught  her  up  to  kiss  the  red  cheeks, 
fondle  the  curly  head,  and  let  the  chubby  hands  pat 
her  face  and  pull  her  ribbons. 

"  Tilly  has  missed  you.  Do  not  let  her  wait  so 
long  again,  but  feel  that  the  garden  is  as  much  yours 


34  MOODS. 

now  as  ever/'  said  Moor,  enjoying  the  pretty  picture 
they  made  together. 

"I  thought  I  should  be  in  the  way,  but  I  did 
long  to  come.  I  hate  calls  generally,  and  Prue  was 
charmed  when  I  proposed  to  make  this  one.  How 
nice  it  looks  here  now  ! "  And  Sylvia  glanced  about 
her  as  if  glad  to  be  again  in  the  quiet  place  which 
still  seemed  haunted  by  the  presence  of  the  happy 
family  who  had  lived  and  loved  there. 

"This  is  the  old  herb-garden  put  to  rights.  My 
father  planted  it5  my  mother  kept  her  bees  here,  and 
both  used  to  sit  upon  this  rustic  seat,  he  reading 
Evelyn,  Cowley,  or  Tusser,  while  she  watched  her 
boy  and  girl  playing  here  and  there.  A  very  dear 
old  place  to  me,  though  so  solitary  now." 

The  voice  was  cheerful  still,  but  something  in  the 
look  that  wandered  to  and  fro  as  if  searching  for 
familiar  forms  touched  Sylvia,  and  with  the  quick 
instinct  of  a  sympathetic  nature  she  tried  to  comfort 
him  by  showing  interest  in  the  spot  he  loved. 

"  Let  me  sit  here  and  play  with  Tilly  while  you 
tell  me  something  about  herbs,  if  you  will.  I  Ve 
read  of  herb-gardens,  but  never  saw  one  before,  and 
find  it  quaint  and  pleasant." 

She  had  evidently  proposed  a  congenial  pastime, 
for  Moor  looked  gratified,  and  while  she  settled  Tilly 
in  her  lap  with  a  watch  and  chatelaine  to  absorb  her 
little  wits  and  fingers,  he  went  to  and  fro,  gathering  a 
leaf  here,  a  twig  there,  till  he  had  a  small  but  odorous 
nosegay  to  offer  her.  Then  he  came  and  sat  beside 


MOOR.  35 

her,  glad  to  tell  her  something  of  the  origin,  fine  asso 
ciations,  and  grateful  properties  which  should  give 
these  comfortable  plants  a  place  in  every  garden. 

"  Here  is  basil,  an  old-fashioned  herb  no  longer 
cultivated  in  this  country,"  he  began.  "I  see  you 
have  read  Keats's  poem ;  that  gives  it  a  romantic 
interest,  but  it  has  a  useful  side  also.  Zelty  tells  us 
that  '  the  smell  thereof  is  good  for  the  head  and  heart; 
its  seed  cureth  infirmities  of  the  brain,  taketh  away 
melancholy,  and  maketh  one  merrie  and  glad.  Its 
leaves  yield  a  savory  smell,  and  it  is  said  the  touch 
of  a  fair  lady  causeth  it  to  thrive.'  The  farmers  in 
Elizabeth's  time  used  to  keep  it  to  offer  their  guests, 
as  I  do  mine."  And  Moor  laughingly  laid  the  green 
sprig  in  Sylvia's  hand. 

She  liked  the  fancy,  and  stroked  the  leaves  with 
as  sincere  wish  that  they  might  thrive  as  any  ancient 
lady  who  had  a  firmer  faith  in  the  power  of  her  touch. 
Seeing  her  interest,  Moor  selected  another  specimen 
and  went  on  with  his  herbaceous  entertainment. 

"  Here  is  fennel.  The  physicians  in  Pliny's  time 
discovered  that,  having  wounded  a  fennel  stalk,  ser 
pents  bathed  their  eyes  in  the  juice ;  thus  they  learned 
that  this  herb  had  a  beneficial  effect  upon  the  sight. 
This  perhaps  is  the  reason  why  old  ladies  take  it  to 
church,  that  neither  sleep  nor  dimness  of  vision  may 
prevent  their  criticising  each  other's  Sunday  best." 

Sylvia  laughed  now,  and  asked,  touching  another 
sprig,  - 

"  Is  this  lavender  ? " 


36  MOODS. 

"  Yes.  It  takes  its  name  ( a  lavendo '  from  bath 
ing,  being  much  used  in  baths  for  its  fragrance  in  old 
times.  In  England  I  saw  great  fields  of  it,  and  when 
in  blossom  it  was  very  lovely.  It  was  said  that  the 
precious  balm  called  nard  was  drawn  from  shrubs 
which  grew  only  in  two  places  in  Judaea,  and  these 
spots  were  kept  sacred  to  the  kings." 

"  I  can  give  you  a  feminine  bit  of  information  in 
return  for  your  wise  one.  The  blossom  gives  its  name 
to  a  pretty  color,  which  with  a  dash  of  pink  makes 
violet,  —  my  favorite  tint,  it  is  so  delicate  and  ex 
pressive." 

Moor  glanced  at  her  hair  for  the  snood  he  liked  to 
see  her  wear ;  but  it  was  gone,  and  Tilly's  great  blue 
eyes  were  the  only  reminder  of  what  Sylvia's  should 
have  been  to  make  her  face  as  harmonious  as  it  was 
attractive.  With  an  imperceptible  shake  of  the  head 
he  hastened  to  finish  his  list,  studying  his  listener 
meantime  as  carefully  as  she  did  the  herbs  which  he 
laid  one  by  one  upon  her  knee. 

"  Here  are  several  sorts  of  mint,  and  rosemary  once 
used  at  weddings  and  funerals ;  sweet  marjoram  and 
sage,  so  full  of  virtues  that  the  ancients  had  a  saying, 
'  Why  need  a  man  die  while  sage  grows  in  his  garden  ? ' 
'  There 's  rue  for  you,  and  here  's  some  for  me  ;  we  may 
call  it  herb  of  grace  o'  Sundays.'  And  this  is  thyme." 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  grows," 
hummed  Sylvia,  as  if  his  lines  reminded  her  of  one 
of  her  favorite  songs. 

Tilly  looked  up  and  began  to  hum  also ;  then,  being 


MOOR.  37 

tired  of  the  trinkets,  ran  away  to  catch  a  white  miller 
that  flew  by.  "  Do  the  bees  never  sting  her  ? "  asked 
Sylvia,  as  she  thanked  her  host  and  put  the  little 
posy  in  her  belt. 

"  No ;  she  has  been  taught  not  to  touch  them,  and 
they  never  hurt  her.  I  suspect  they  understand  one 
another,  for  there  is  a  sort  of  free-masonry  among  chil 
dren,  birds,  bees,  and  butterflies,  you  know.  Some 
grown  people  possess  it.  I  have  a  friend  who  can 
charm  the  wildest  creatures,  and  attract  the  shyest 
people,  though  he  is  rather  an  imposing  personage 
himself.  You  have  the  same  gift,  I  think,  if  I  may 
judge  by  the  pets  I  saw  about  you  once." 

"Perhaps  I  have,  for  I  can  always  get  on  with 
dumb  animals,  they  are  so  honest  and  simple.  Peo 
ple  tire  me,  so  I  fly  to  the  woods  when  books  give 
out,"  answered  the  girl,  with  a  sigh,  remembering  how 
many  hours  these  friends  had  brightened  when  Prue 
scolded  and  Max  tormented  her. 

Thinking  she  was  weary  of  the  herb-garden,  Moor 
was  about  to  propose  going  on,  when  Prue's  voice  was 
heard,  and  they  went  to  meet  her.  Leading  them  in, 
their  host  entertained  one  sister  in  the  drawing-room, 
leaving  the  other  to  enjoy  herself  at  her  own  sweet 
will  in  the  library. 

It  was  a  pleasant  place,  lofty,  cool,  and  quiet. 
Pines  sighed  before  two  deep  windows,  green  draper 
ies  and  a  mossy  carpet  of  the  same  hue  softened  the 
sunshine  that  came  in  at  a  third  window,  before  which 
stood  the  writing-table.  The  ancient  furniture  seemed 


38  MOODS. 

at  home  there,  the  book-lined  walls  invited  one  to  sit 
and  read,  and  a  few  fine  pictures  refreshed  the  eye  as 
it  wandered  from  Correggio's  Fates,  above  the  old- 
fashioned  fireplace,  to  portraits  of  poets,  or  the  busts 
of  philosophers  sitting  up  aloft,  serenely  presiding 
over  the  wit  and  wisdom  of  ages  stored  on  the  shelves 
below. 

Sylvia  enjoyed  herself  immensely  as  she  roved  to 
and  fro,  full  of  girlish  curiosity  and  more  than  girlish 
interest  in  this  studious  place.  She  peeped  into  the 
portfolios,  tried  the  ancient  chairs,  pondered  over  the 
faces  on  the  walls,  and  scrutinized  the  table  where 
a  little  vase  of  early  wild-flowers  stood  among  wise 
books  in  unknown  tongues,  and  many  papers  sug 
gested  brainwork  of  some  sort.  Coming  at  last  to  a 
certain  cabinet  where  favorite  authors  seemed  to  be 
enshrined,  she  possessed  herself  of  the  much-desired 
volumes,  and  sat  down  in  a  great  velvet  chair  to  read 
on.  But  the  murmur  of  voices  disturbed  her,  and  she 
fell  to  musing  with  her  eyes  on  the  weird  Sisters  hang 
ing  just  above  her. 

She  was  wondering  how  it  would  have  fared  with 
her  if  this  quiet  homelike  place  had  been  her  home, 
that  sweet-faced  woman  her  mother,  the  benign  old 
man  her  father,  and  she  the  sister  to  whom  Geoffrey 
had  devoted  so  many  years.  Would  she  have  been 
better,  happier  than  now,  if  she  had  grown  up  in 
the  atmosphere  of  domestic  peace,  affection,  and  re 
finement  that  still  seemed  to  pervade  the  place  and 
make  its  indefinable  but  potent  charm?  Her  own 


MOOR.  39 

home  was  not  harmonious,  and  she  felt  the  need  of 
cherishing  as  much  as  a  motherless  bird  in  a  chilly 
nest.  She  had  neither  the  skill  nor  power  to  change 
anything,  she  could  only  suffer  and  submit,  wonder 
ing  as  she  did  so  why  fate  was  not  kinder. 

The  old  place  had  always  been  wonderfully  attrac 
tive  to  her,  and  now,  as  she  sat  in  the  heart  of  it,  she 
felt  a  curious  sort  of  content,  and  wished  to  stay,  sure 
that  it  would  be  long  before  she  tired  of  this  restful 
and  congenial  spot.  The  soft  arms  of  the  old  chair 
embraced  her  as  if  she  sat  in  a  grandmother's  capa 
cious  lap;  the  pines  whispered  a  soothing  lullaby,  the 
perfume  of  herbs  recalled  that  pleasant  half-hour  in 
the  garden ;  and  the  little  picture  of  happy  parents 
and  children  rose  before  her  again,  making  the  silence 
and  solitude  doubly  pathetic. 

Moor  found  her  sitting  so,  and  thought  the  musing 
little  figure  far  more  agreeable  than  prim  Prue  in  her 
rustling  plum- colored  silk  and  best  bonnet. 

"  Your  sister  has  kindly  gone  to  give  my  house 
keeper  some  directions  for  my  comfort.  What  can  I 
do  for  you  meantime,  Miss  Sylvia  ? "  he  said,  with 
such  a  friendly  air  that  she  felt  no  hesitation  in  freely 
asking  anything  caprice  suggested. 

"  I  was  wondering  if  there  was  any  way  of  making 
those  old  women  spin  our  threads  as  we  want'  them. 
They  look  very  stern  and  pitiless,"  she  said,  pointing 
to  the  picture. 

"  If  I  believed  in  fate,  I  should  say  No ;  but  as  I  do 
not,  I  think  we  can  twist  our  own  threads  very  much 


40  MOODS. 

as  we  will,  if  we  only  have  the  patience  and  courage 
to  try." 

"  Don't  you  think  there  are  some  persons  born  to 
be  dissatisfied,  defeated  in  all  ways,  and  dreadfully 
unhappy  ? " 

"  Many  people  are  born  with  troubles  of  mind  or 
body  that  try  them  very  mucn,  but  they  can  be  out 
lived,  subdued,  or  submitted  to  so  sweetly  that  the 
affliction  is  a  blessing  in  disguise.  'Man  is  his 
own  star,'  you  know,  and  a  belief  in  God  is  far  better 
than  any  superstition  about  fate." 

Eemembering  what  his  own  life  had  been,  Sylvia 
felt  that  he  practised  what  he  preached,  and  was 
ashamed  to  say  more  about  the  moods  that  tormented 
her  and  made  a  blind  belief  in  fate  so  easy  to  her. 
She  was  strongly  tempted  to  speak,  for  confidence 
seemed  natural  with  Moor,  and  the  few  times  they 
had  met  had  already  made  them  friends.  She  wished 
she  was  little  Sylvia  again,  to  sit  upon  his  knee  and 
tell  her  perplexities  as  she  once  told  her  childish 
troubles,  sure  of  help  and  sympathy.  But  young  as 
she  was  in  years,  the  girl  was  fast  changing  to  the 
woman,  and  learning  to  hide  what  lay  nearest  her 
heart.  So  now  she  smiled  and  turned  to  another 
picture,  saying  with  a  cheerier  ring  in  her  voice,  as  if 
caught  from  his,  — 

"  I  '11  try  for  the  patience  and  the  courage  then,  and 
let  the  old  sisters  spin  as  they  will.  Please  tell  me 
who  that  is  ?  It  looks  like  Jove,  but  has  no  eagle  nor 
thunderbolts." 


MOOR.  41 

Moor  laughed  as  he  pushed  away  the  curtain  that 
she  might  see  the  fine  engraving  better  as  it  hung  in 
the  recess  above  the  cabinet. 

"  That  is  a  modern  Jove,  the  writer  of  the  book  you 
like  so  well,  Goethe." 

"  What  a  splendid  head  !  I  wish  he  lived  now,  I 
would  so  love  to  see  and  know  him.  I  always  envied 
Bettina  and  longed  to  be  in  her  place.  People  now 
adays  are  so  unheroic  and  disappointing,  even  the 
famous  ones." 

"  I  can  show  you  a  man  who  resembles  this  mag 
nificent  old  fellow  very  much.  He  is  not  so  great  a 
genius,  but  sufficiently  '  many-sided  '  to  astonish  and 
perplex  his  friends  as  much  as  young  Wolfgang  did 
his  during  the  'storm  and  stress  period.'  I  hope  to 
see  him  here  before  long,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  not 
find  him  unheroic,  though  he  may  be  disappoint 
ing." 

"  If  he  looks  like  that,  and  is  honest  and  wise,  I 
don't  care  how  odd  he  may  be.  I  like  original  people 
who  speak  their  minds  out  and  don't  worry  about 
trifles/'  said  Sylvia,  looking  upon  the  picture  with 
great  favor. 

"  Then  he  will  suit  you.  I  will  say  no  more,  but 
leave  you  to  find  him  out  alone ;  that  always  adds  to 
the  interest  of  a  new  acquaintance."  And  Moor  smiled 
to  himself  at  the  prospect  of  a '  meeting  between  his 
tempestuous  friend  and  this  precocious  little  girl 
whom  he  had  already  named  Ariel  in  his  fancy. 

"  May  I  dare  to  ask  about  this  picture  too  ?     It  is 


42  MOODS. 

so  beautiful  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  pay  my  respects  to 
the  sweet  lady  of  the  house." 

Sylvia  stood  up  as  she  spoke,  and  made  a  little 
gesture  of  salutation,  with  her  eyes  on  the  face  of 
the  portrait  in  the  place  of  honor  above  the  writing- 
table. 

The  color  came  into  Moor's  cheek,  and  he  thanked 
her  with  a  look  she  long  remembered ;  for  this  mother 
had  been  very  dear  to  him  and  made  him  what  he 
was.  Gladly  he  told  her  many  things  that  made  the 
hour  sweet  and  memorable  to  both  listener  and  nar 
rator  ;  for  the  son  was  eloquent,  and  Sylvia  found 
the  woman  he  described  her  ideal  of  that  dearest, 
loveliest  of  human  creatures,  a  good  mother.  Tears 
were  in  both  their  eyes  when  he  paused,  but  the  girl 
begged  him  to  go  on,  and  he  told  the  pathetic  little 
story  of  his  patient  sister,  making  Sylvia  ashamed  of 
her  visionary  trials,  and  deepening  her  newly  awak 
ened  interest  in  this  man  to  admiration  and  respect, 
though  he  said  nothing  of  himself. 

Prue  came  bustling  in  as  he  ended,  and  there  was  no 
chance  for  poetry  or  pathos  where  she  was.  Their  host 
went  with  them  to  the  great  gate,  and  they  left  him 
standing  bareheaded  in  the  rosy  sunset  that  wrapped 
Sylvia  in  a  soft  haze  as  she  went  musing  home,  while 
Moor  lingered  back  along  the  path  that  was  no  longer 
solitary,  for  a  slender  figure  seemed  to  walk  beside 
him,  with  tender,  innocent  eyes  looking  into  his. 


DULL,  BUT  NECESSARY.  43 

CHAPTEE   III. 

DULL,   BUT  NECESSARY. 

TTTHOEVEK  cares  only  for  incident  and  action  in 
V  V     a  book  had  better  skip  this  chapter  and  read 
on  ;  but  those  who  take  an  interest  in  the  delineation 
of  character  will  find  the  key  to  Sylvia's  here. 

John  Yule  might  have  been  a  poet,  painter,  or  phi 
lanthropist,  for  Heaven  had  endowed  him  with  fine 
gifts  ;  he  was  a  prosperous  merchant,  with  no  ambi 
tion  but  to  leave  a  fortune  to  his  children  and  live 
down  the  memory  of  a  bitter  past.  On  the  threshold 
of  his  life  he  stumbled  and  fell ;  for  as  he  paused 
there,  Providence  tested  and  found  him  wanting.  On 
one  side  Poverty  offered  the  aspiring  youth  her  mea 
gre  hand ;  but  he  was  not  wise  enough  to  see  the 
virtues  hidden  under  her  hard  aspect,  nor  brave 
enough  to  learn  the  stern  yet  salutary  lessons  which 
labor,  necessity,  and  patience  teach,  giving  to  those 
who  serve  and  suffer  the  true  success.  On  the  other 
hand  Opulence  allured  him  with  her  many  baits,  and, 
silencing  the  voice  of  conscience,  he  yielded  to  temp 
tation  and  wrecked  his  nobler  self. 

A  loveless  marriage  was  the  price  he  paid  for  his 
ambition ;  not  a  costly  one,  he  thought,  till  time 
taught  him  that  whosoever  mars^  the  integrity  of  his 


44  MOODS. 

own  soul  by  transgressing  the  great  laws  of  life,  even 
by  so  much  as  a  hair's  breadth,  entails  upon  himself 
and  heirs  the  inevitable  retribution  which  proves 
their  worth  and  keeps  them  sacred.  The  tie  that 
bound  and  burdened  the  unhappy  twain,  worn  thin 
by  constant  friction,  snapped  at  last,  and  in  the  sol 
emn  pause  death  made  in  his  busy  life,  there  rose 
before  him  those  two  ghosts  who  sooner  or  later 
haunt  us  all,  saying  with  reproachful  voices,  "  This 
I  might  have  been  "  and  "  This  I  am."  Then  he  saw 
the  failure  of  his  life.  At  fifty  he  found  himself 
poorer  than  when  he  made  his  momentous  choice ; 
for  the  years  that  had  given  him  wealth,  position, 
children,  had  also  taken  from  him  youth,  self-respect, 
and  many  a  gift  whose  worth  was  magnified  by  loss. 
He  endeavored  to  repair  the  fault  so  tardily  acknowl 
edged,  but  found  it  impossible  to  cancel  it  when  re 
morse,  imbittered  effort,  and  age  left  him  powerless 
to  redeem  the  rich  inheritance  squandered  in  his 
prime. 

If  ever  man  received  punishment  for  a  self-inflicted 
wrong,  it  was  John  Yule,  —  a  punishment  as  subtle 
as  the  sin  ;  for  in  the  children  growing  up  about  him 
every  relinquished  hope,  neglected  gift,  lost  aspira 
tion,  seemed  to  live  again  ;  yet  on  each  and  all  was 
set  the  direful  stamp  of  imperfection,  which  made 
them  visible  illustrations  of  the  great  law  broken  in 
his  youth. 

In  Prudence,  as  she  grew  to  womanhood,  he  saw 
his  own  practical  tact  and  talent,  nothing  more.  She 


DULL,  BUT  NECESSARY.  45 

seemed  the  living  representative  of  the  years  spent 
in  strife  for  profit,  power,  and  place ;  the  petty  cares 
that  fret  the  soul,  the  mercenary  schemes  that  waste 
a  life,  the  worldly  formalities,  frivolities,  and  fears, 
that  so  belittle  character.  All  these  he  saw  in  this 
daughter's  sha,pe;  and  with  pathetic  patience  bore 
the  daily  trial  of  an  over-active,  over-anxious,  affec 
tionate,  but  most  prosaic  child. 

In  Max  he  saw  his  ardor  for  the  beautiful,  his  love 
of  the  poetic,  his  reverence  for  genius,  virtue,  hero 
ism.  But  here  too  the  subtle  blight  had  fallen. 
This  son,  though  strong  in  purpose,  was  feeble  in 
performance ;  for  some  hidden  spring  of  power  was 
wanting,  and  the  shadow  of  that  earlier  defeat  chilled 
in  his  nature  the  energy  which  is  the  first  attribute 
of  all  success.  Max  loved  art,  and  gave  himself  to 
it ;  but,  though  studying  all  forms  of  beauty,  he  never 
reached  its  soul,  and  every  effort  tantalized  him  with 
fresh  glimpses  of  the  fair  ideal  which  he  could  not 
reach.  He  loved  the  true,  but  high  thoughts  seldom 
blossomed  into  noble  deeds  ;  for  when  the  hour  came 
the  man  was  never  ready,  and  disappointment  was 
his  daily  portion.  A  sad  fate  for  the  son,  a  far  sad 
der  one  for  the  father  who  had  bequeathed  it  to  him 
from  the  irrecoverable  past. 

In  Sylvia  he  saw,  mysteriously  blended,  the  two 
natures  that  had  given  her  life,  although  she  was 
born  when  the  gulf  between  regretful  husband  and 
sad  wife  was  widest.  As  if  indignant  Nature  re 
belled  against  the  outrage  done  her  holiest  ties,  ad- 


46  MOODS. 

verse  temperaments  gifted  the  child  with  the  good 
and  ill  of  each.  From  her  father  she  received  pride, 
intellect,  and  will;  from  her  mother  passion,  im 
agination,  and  the  fateful  melancholy  of  a  woman 
defrauded  of  her  dearest  hope.  These  conflicting 
temperaments,  with  all  their  aspirations,  attributes, 
and  inconsistencies,  were  woven  into  a  nature  fair 
and  faulty  ;  ambitious,  yet  not  self-reliant ;  sensitive, 
yet  not  keen-sighted.  These  two  masters  ruled  soul 
and  body,  warring  against  each  other,  making  Sylvia 
an  enigma  to  herself  and  her  life  a  train  of  moods. 

A  wise  and  tender  mother  would  have  divined  her 
nameless  needs,  answered  her  vague  desires,  and 
through  the  medium  of  the  most  omnipotent  affec 
tion  given  to  humanity,  have  made  her  what  she 
might  have  been.  But  Sylvia  had  never  known 
mother-love,  for  her  life  came  through  death ;  and 
the  only  legacy  bequeathed  her  was  a  ceaseless  crav 
ing  for  affection,  and  the  shadow  of  a  tragedy  that 
wrung  from  the  pale  lips,  that  grew  cold  against  her 
baby  cheek,  the  cry,  "  Free  at  last,  thank  God  ! " 

Prudence  could  not  fill  the  empty  place,  though 
the  good-hearted  housewife  did  her  best.  Neither 
sister  understood  the  other,  and  each  tormented  the 
other  through  her  very  love.  Prue  unconsciously 
exasperated  Sylvia,  Sylvia  unconsciously  shocked 
Prue,  and  they  hitched  along  together,  each  trying  to 
do  well,  and  each  taking  diametrically  opposite  meas 
ures  to  effect  her  purpose.  Max  briefly  but  truly 
described  them  when  he  said,  "  Sylvia  trims  the 


DULL,  BUT  NECESSARY.  47 

house  with  flowers,  Prudence  dogs  her  with  a  dust 
pan." 

Mr.  Yule  was  now  a  busy,  silent  man,  who,  having 
said  one  fatal  "  No  "  to  himself,  made  it  the  satisfac 
tion  of  his  life  to  say  a  never  varying  "  Yes  "  to  his 
children.  But  though  he  left  no  wish  of  theirs  un- 
gratified,  he  seemed  to  have  forfeited  his  power  to 
draw  and  hold  them  to  himself.  He  was  more  like 
an  unobtrusive  guest  than  a  master  in  his  house. 
His  children  loved,  but  never  clung  to  him,  because 
unseen,  yet  impassable,  rose  the  barrier  of  an  instinc 
tive  protest  against  the  wrong  done  their  dead  mother, 
unconscious  on  their  part  but  terribly  significant  to 
him. 

Max  had  been  years  away,  studying  abroad ;  and 
though  the  brother  and  sister  were  tenderly  attached, 
sex,  tastes,  and  pursuits  kept  them  too  far  apart,  and 
Sylvia  was  solitary  even  in  this  social-seeming  home. 
Dissatisfied  with  herself,  she  endeavored  to  make  her 
life  what  it  should  be  with  the  energy  of  an  ardent, 
aspiring  nature ;  and  through  all  experiences,  sweet  or 
bitter,  all  varying  moods,  successes,  and  defeats,  a  sin 
cere  desire  for  happiness  the  best  and  highest  was  the 
little  rushlight  of  her  soul  that  never  wavered  or  went 
out. 

She  had  never  known  friendship  in  its  truest  sense, 
for  next  to  love  it  is  the  most  abused  of  words.  She 
had  called  many  "friend,"  but  was  still  ignorant  of 
that  sentiment,  cooler  than  passion,  warmer  than  re 
spect,  more  just  and  generous  than  either,  which  rec- 


48  MOODS. 

ognizes  a  kindred  spirit  in  another,  and,  claiming  its 
right,  keeps  it  sacred  by  the  wise  reserve  that  is  to 
friendship  what  the  purple  bloom  is  to  the  grape,  a 
charm  which  once  destroyed  can  never  be  restored. 
Love  she  dreaded,  feeling  that  when  it  came  its  power 
would  possess  her  wholly,  and  she  had  no  wish  to  lose 
her  freedom  yet.  Therefore  she  rejoiced  over  a  more 
tranquil  pleasure,  and  believed  that  she  had  found  a 
friend  in  the  neighbor  who  after  long  absence  had  re 
turned  to  his  old  place. 

Nature  had  done  much  for  Geoffrey  Moor,  but  the 
wise  mother  also  gave  him  those  teachers  to  whose 
hard  lessons  she  often  leaves  her  dearest  children. 
Five  years  spent  in  the  service  of  a  sister,  who  through 
the  sharp  discipline  of  pain  was  fitting  her  meek  soul 
for  heaven,  had  given  him  an  experience  such  as  few 
young  men  receive.  This  fraternal  devotion  proved  a 
blessing  in  disguise  ;  it  preserved  him  from  any  profa 
nation  of  his  youth,  and  the  companionship  of  the 
helpless  creature  whom  he  loved  had  proved  an  ever 
present  stimulant  to  all  that  was  best  and  sweetest  in 
the  man.  A  single  duty,  faithfully  performed,  had  set 
the  seal  of  integrity  upon  his  character,  and  given  him 
grace  to  see  at  thirty  the  rich  compensation  he  had 
received  for  the  ambitions  silently  sacrificed  at  twenty- 
five.  When  his  long  vigil  was  over,  he  looked  into 
the  world  to  find  his  place  again.  But  the  old  desjres 
were  dead,  the  old  allurements  had  lost  their  charm, 
and  while  he  waited  for  time  to  show  him  what  good 
work  he  should  espouse,  no  longing  was  so  strong  as 


DULL,  BUT  NECESSARY.  49 

that  for  a  home,  where  he  might  bless  and  be  blessed 
in  writing  that  immortal  poem,  a  virtuous  and  happy 
life. 

Sylvia  soon  felt  the  power  and  beauty  of  this  nature, 
and,  remembering  how  well  he  had  ministered  to  a 
physical  affliction,  often  looked  into  the  face  whose 
serenity  was  a  perpetual  rebuke,  longing  to  ask  him  to 
help  and  heal  the  mental  ills  that  perplexed  and  bur 
dened  her.  Moor  soon  divined  the  real  isolation  of 
the  girl,  read  the  language  of  her  wistful  eyes,  felt  that 
he  could  serve  her,  and  invited  confidence  by  the  cor 
dial  alacrity  with  which  he  met  her  least  advance. 

But  while  he  served,  he  learned  to  love  her ;  for  Syl 
via,  humble  in  her  own  conceit,  and  guarded  by  the 
innocence  of  an  unspoiled  youth,  freely  showed  the 
regard  she  felt,  with  no  thought  of  misapprehension, 
no  fear  of  consequences,  —  unconscious  that  such  im 
pulsive  demonstration  made  her  only  more  attractive, 
that  every  manifestation  of  her  frank  esteem  was  cher 
ished  in  her  friend's  heart  of  hearts,  and  that  through 
her  he  was  enjoying  the  blossom  time  of  life.  So, 
peacefully  and  pleasantly,  the  spring  ripened  into  sum 
mer,  and  Sylvia's  interest  into  an  enduring  friendship, 
full  of  satisfaction  till  a  stronger  influence  came  to 
waken  and  disturb  her. 


50  MOODS. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

WARWICK. 

A  WILD  storm  had  raged  all  night,  and  now, 
though  the  rain  had  ceased,  the  wind  still  blew 
furiously  and  the  sea  thundered  on  the  coast.  It  had 
been  a  dull  day  for  Sylvia,  and  she  had  wandered 
about  the  house  like  an  unquiet  spirit  in  captivity. 
She  had  sewed  a  little  while  with  Prue,  stood  an  hour 
to  Max  as  Clytenmestra  with  a  dagger  in  her  hand, 
read  till  her  eyes  ached,  played  till  her  fingers  were 
weary,  and  at  last  fallen  asleep  in  the  sofa  corner 
when  even  day-dreams  failed  to  lighten  her  ennui. 

She  was  wakened  by  a  watery  gleam  of  sunshine, 
and,  welcoming  the  good  omen,  she  sprung  up,  eager 
as  a  caged  bird  for  air  and  liberty. 

"  The  sea  will  be  magnificent  after  this  gale,  and  I 
must  see  it.  Prue  will  say  no  if  I  ask  her,  so  I  will 
run  away,  and  beg  pardon  when  I  come  back,"  thought 
Sylvia,  as  she  clasped  her  blue  cloak  and  caught  up 
the  hat  she  never  wore  when  she  could  help  it. 

Off  she  went,  through  byways,  over  walls,  under 
dripping  trees,  and  among  tall  grass  bowed  by  the 
rain,  straight  toward  the  sea,  whose  distant  music 
sounded  like  a  voice  calling  her  to  come  and  share  its 
tempestuous  mood.  The  keen  wind  buffeted  her  as 


WARWICK.  51 

she  ran,  but  its  breath  kissed  fresh  roses  into  her  pale 
cheeks,  filled  her  lungs  with  new  life,  and  seemed  to 
sweep  her  along  like  a  creature  born  to  love  and  live 
in  such  wild  hours  as  this.  The  lonely  cliffs  looked 
like  old  friends  to  her,  though  wearing  their  grimmest 
aspect,  with  torn  seaweed  clinging  to  them  below  and 
foarn  flying  high  up  their  rough  fronts.  The  tide 
was  coming  in,  but  a  strip  of  sand  still  lay  bare,  and, 
climbing  down,  sure-footed  as  a  goat,  Sylvia  reached 
the  rock  which  usually  rose  tall  and  dry  from  the 
waves  that  rolled  in  and  out  of  the  little  bay.  It 
was  wet  now,  and  the  path  that  led  to  it  rapidly  nar 
rowing  as  the  tide  rose  higher  with  each  billow  that 
hurried  to  dash  and  break  upon  the  shore. 

"  Ah,  this  is  glorious  ! "  sighed  the  girl,  with  a  long 
breath  of  the  sweet  cold  air  that  came  winging  its 
way  across  the  wide  Atlantic  to  refresh  her.  "  Now  I 
shall  be  happy,  and  can  sing  my  heart  out  without 
disturbing  any  one." 

Wrapping  her  cloak  about  her,  she  leaned  in  the  re 
cess  that  made  her  favorite  seat,  and  let  her  voice  rise 
and  ring  above  the  turmoil  of  the  waves,  as  if  she  too 
felt  the  need  of  pouring  out  the  restless  spirit  pent  up 
in  that  young  breast  of  hers.  Sweet  and  shrill  sounded 
the  mingled  music,  and  the  wind  caught  it  up  to  carry 
it  with  flecks  of  foam,  sea  scents,  and  flying  leaves  to 
the  cliffs  above,  where  a  solitary  figure  stood  to  watch 
the  storm. 

A  strange  medley,  for  the  girl  set  her  songs  to  the 
fitful  music  of  wind  and  wave,  finding  a  sort  of  ecstasy 


52  MOODS. 

in  the  mood  that  now  possessed  her,  born  of  the  hour 
and  the  place.  Ariel's  dirge  mingled  with  the  Lorelei's 
song,  and  the  moaning  of  the  Harbor  Bar  died  away 
into  a  wail  for  Mary  on  the  sands  of  Dee. 

The  narrow  strip  of  beach  was  dwindling  to  a 
thread,  and  on  that  thread  a  life  depended ;  but  Sylvia 
did  not  see  it,  and  the  treacherous  tide  crept  on. 

The  first  exultation  over,  she  let  her  thoughts  voy 
age  away  as  if  carried  by  the  ships  whose  white  wings 
shone  against  the  dark  horizon  like  sea-birds  flying  to 
distant  homes.  She  longed  to  follow  with  the  vague 
desire  that  tempts  young  hearts  to  sigh  for  the  un 
known,  unconscious  that  the  sweetest  mysteries  of 
life  lie  folded  up  in  their  own  bosoms.  She  pictured 
in  the  fairest  colors  the  new  world  that  lay  beyond 
the  dim  line  where  sky  and  ocean  met  and  melted. 
"What  friends  should  she  find,  what  happiness,  what 
answer  to  the  questions  that  no  one  could  solve  here  ? 
Would  she  ever  sail  away  across  this  wide  sea  to  reach 
and  rest  in  that  fair  country,  peopled  with  all  the  beau 
tiful,  heroic  shapes  her  hungry  heart  and  eager  fancy 
conjured  up  ?  She  hoped  so,  and,  dreaming  of  the  fu 
ture,  utterly  forgot  the  peril  of  the  present. 

An  ominous  sound  was  in  the  air,  and  each  billow 
broke  higher  on  the  rock  where  she  lay  wrapped  in 
her  own  thoughts ;  but  Sylvia  never  heeded,  and 
the  treacherous  tide  crept  on. 

From  wondering  and  longing  for  the  unknown  of 
this  world  she  passed  to  marvelling  what  the  change 
would  be  when  she  landed  on  the  shore  of  that  other 


WARWICK.  53 

world,  where  every  wave  that  breaks  carries  a  human 
soul.  She  longed  to  know,  and  felt  a  strange  yearn 
ing  to  find  again  the  mother  whose  very  name  was 
but  a  memory.  The  tender  tie  broken  so  soon  still 
seemed  to  thrill  with  a  warmth  death  could  not  chill, 
and  the  girl  often  felt  irresistibly  drawn  to  seek  some 
clearer  knowledge,  some  nearer  hold  of  this  lost  love, 
without  which  life  was  lonely  and  the  world  never 
could  be  home  to  her. 

Tears  dropped  fast,  and,  hiding  her  head,  she  sobbed 
like  a  broken-hearted  child  grieving  for  its  mother. 
She  never  let  Prue  know  the  want  she  felt,  never 
told  her  father  how  powerless  his  indulgent  affection 
was  to  feed  this  natural  craving,  nor  found  elsewhere 
the  fostering  care  she  pined  for.  Only  in  hours  like 
these  the  longing  vented  itself  in  bitter  tears,  that  left 
the  eyes  dim,  the  heart  heavy  for  days  afterward. 

A  voice  called  her  from  the  cliff  above,  a  step 
sounded  on  the  rocky  path  behind,  but  Sylvia  did  not 
hear  them,  nor  see  a  figure  hurrying  through  the  deep 
ening  water  toward  her,  till  a  great  wave  rolled  up 
and  broke  over  her  feet,  startling  her  with  its  chill. 

Then  she  sprung  up  and  looked  about  her  with  a 
sudden  thrill  of  fear,  for  the  green  billows  tumbled 
everywhere,  the  path  was  gone,  and  the  treacherous 
tide  was  in. 

A  moment  she  stood  dismayed,  then  flung  away 
her  cloak,  and  was  about  to  plunge  into  the  sea  when 
a  commanding  voice  called,  "  Stop,  I  am  coming ! " 
And  before  she  could  turn  a  strong  arm  caught  her 


54  MOODS. 

up,  flung  the  cloak  round  her,  and  she  felt  herself 
carried  high  above  the  hungry  waves  that  leaped  up 
as  if  disappointed  of  their  prey. 

On  the  first  dry  slope  of  the  path  she  was  set  down, 
unmuffled  by  a  quick  hand,  and  found  herself  face 
to  face  with  a  strange  man,  who  said  with  a  smile  that 
made  her  forget  fear  in  shame,  — 

"  Next  time  you  play  Undine  have  a  boat  near,  for 
there  may  be  no  Kuhlborn  at  hand  to  save  you." 

"  I  never  was  caught  before,  and  could  easily  have 
saved  myself  by  swimming.  Nevertheless  I  thank 
you,  sir,  though  I  am  hardly  worth  a  wetting." 

Sylvia  began  petulantly,  being  nettled  by  the  satiric 
glimmer  in  the  keen  eyes  fixed  upon  her ;  but  she 
ended  courteously,  though  her  own  eyes  were  still 
wet  with  sadder  tears  than  any  from  the  sea. 

"  Shall  I  drop  you  back  again  ?  Nothing  easier,  if 
you  prefer  to  weep  your  life  away  down  there  to  mak 
ing  it  useful  and  pleasant  up  here,"  said  the  man,  still 
smiling,  but  with  a  sudden  softening  of  the  face  as  he 
read  sorrow,  not  sentimentality,  in  the  young  counte 
nance  before  him. 

It  touched  Sylvia  with  its  quick  sympathy,  and 
simply  as  a  child  she  said,  lifting  those  lovely  eyes  of 
hers  full  of  gratitude  and  grief,  — 

"  I  was  crying  for  my  mother,  and  I  think  if  you 
had  not  come  I  should  have  been  glad  to  go  to  her." 

"  Make  her  glad  and  proud  to  welcome  you,  and 
never  think  yourself  ready  for  death  till  you  have 
learned  to  live.  Shall  we  go  up  higher  ?  " 


WARWICK.  55 

As  he  spoke  the  man  led  the  way,  and  the  girl  fol 
lowed,  feeling  rebuked  and  comforted  at  the  same 
time.  Half-way  up  he  paused  on  a  little  green  plateau 
that  nestled  in  a  sunny  crevice  of  the  cliff.  A  hardy 
flower  or  two  grew  there,  a  slender  birch  and  a  young 
pine  stood  side  by  side,  and  birds  were  chirping  in 
the  branches  as  they  brooded  on  their  nests.  It  was 
a  pretty  place  midway  between  sea  and  sky,  sheltered 
and  safe  yet  not  solitary,  for  the  ocean  sang  below, 
the  sun  shone  warmly  above,  and  every  air  that  blew 
brought  some  hint  of  land  or  sea. 

"  Eest  a  moment  here ;  the  path  above  is  a  steep 
one  and  you  are  breathless,"  said  the  man,  looking 
down  at  Sylvia  much  as  the  tall  cliffs  looked  at  the 
little  pimpernel  close  shut  in  its  pink  curtains  among 
the  stones  at  their  feet. 

"  It  is  the  wind  that  takes  my  breath  away.  I  like 
to  climb,  and  can  show  you  an  easier  path  than  that," 
said  the  girl,  gathering  up  the  hair  that  blew  about 
her  face  in  a  golden  cloud. 

"  I  always  take  the  shortest  way,  no  matter  how 
rough  it  is.  Never  fear,  I  '11  pull  you  up  if  you  will 
trust  me." 

"  I  will,  beca,use  I  know  you  now."  And  Sylvia 
smiled  as  she  looked  at  the  vigorous  frame  and  fine 
face  before  her. 

"  Who  am  I  ? "  asked  the  stranger,  amused  at  her 
answer. 

"  Adam  Warwick." 

"  Paght.     How  did  you  guess  ?  " 


56  MOODS. 

"Mr.  Moor  said  you  were  like  a  picture  in  his 
study,  and  you  are.  I  thought  it  was  meant  for  Ju 
piter,  but  it  was  Goethe." 

Sylvia  got  no  further,  for  Warwick  laughed  out  so 
heartily  she  could  not  resist  joining  him,  as  she  leaned 
against  the  little  birch-tree,  glad  to  get  rid  of  her  sad 
ness  and  embarrassment  so  easily. 

"  He  glorifies  his  friends  like  a  woman,  and  I  thank 
him  for  saying  a  good  word  in  behalf  of  such  a  vaga 
bond  as  I.  You  are  Max  Yule's  sister  ?  I  was  sure 
of  it  when  I  saw  you  singing  like  a  mermaid  down 
there.  He  used  to  tell  of  your  pranks.  I  see  he  did 
not  exaggerate." 

Sylvia  was  annoyed  at  the  idea  of  her  brother's 
tales,  and  wished  Moor  had  told  her  something  of 
this  person,  that  she  might  know  what  manner  of 
man  he  was  and  treat  him  accordingly.  She  wras  not 
afraid  of  him,  though  he  looked  very  tall  and  power 
ful,  standing  straight  and  strong  against  the  cliff,  with 
the  dark  shadow  of  the  pine  upon  him.  A  masterful 
man,  she  thought,  but  a  kindly  one,  and  original  in 
speech  and  manner  at  least,  for  the  first  was  very 
blunt  and  the  latter  decided,  yet  genial  at  moments. 

"  Shall  we  go  on  ? "  said  the  girl,  anxious  to  escape 
all  discussion  of  herself. 

"  Yes ;  it  is  getting  late  and  we  are  wet.  Now 
then  ! "  And,  taking  her  hand,  Warwick  literally  did 
pull  her  up  the  face  of  the  cliff  in  half  a  dozen  vigor 
ous  strides  and  swings,  planting  her  on  the  top  and 
still  holding  her,  for  the  wind  blew  a  gale  above  there. 


WARWICK.  57 

She  liked  it,  however,  and  stood  a  moment  laugh 
ing  and  panting,  while  the  blue  cloak  flapped  and  the 
long  hair  fluttered  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  confine  it 
under  her  hat.  Something  fresh  and  strong  seemed 
to  have  taken  possession  of  her,  and  a  pleasant  ex 
citement  made  her  eyes  shine,  her  cheeks  glow,  her 
lips  srnile,  and  life  look  happy  in  spite  of  the  trials 
that  she  had  just  been  bemoaning. 

Agreeable  as  it  was  to  watch  that  buoyant  little 
figure,  and  listen  to  its  frank  conversation,  Warwick, 
more  mindful  of  her  damp  feet  than  his  own  dripping 
ones,  said  presently,  — 

"  This  is  a  fine  sight,  but  we  must  leave  it.  I  shall 
come  again,  and  hope  to  find  you  here  rather  than 
down  below." 

"  I  shall  not  try  that  again,  nor  this  either,"  an 
swered  Sylvia.  "It  is  sad  and  dangerous  in  that 
cave  of  mine,  it  is  too  rough  and  high  and  gusty  up 
here  for  me,  but  in  Mr.  Moor's  little  nook  half-way 
between  it  is  safe  and  sunny,  and  there  one  gets  the 
best  of  both  sea  and  sky,  with  green  grass  and  birds 
and  flowers." 

Warwick  looked  at  her  keenly  as  she  spoke,  read 
ing  in  her  face,  her  tone,  her  gesture,  a  double  signifi 
cance  to  her  simple  words. 

"  You  are  right ;  keep  to  the  happy,  wholesome 
places  in  life,  and  leave  the  melancholy  sea,  the  wan 
dering  winds,  and  craggy  peaks  to  those  who  are  made 
for  them." 

Sylvia  glanced  up  as  if  surprised  at  being  so  well 


58  MOODS. 

understood,  but  before  she  could  speak  Warwick 
moved  on,  saying  in  a  different  tone,  — 

"  Will  you  come  to  the  Manse  and  be  made  com 
fortable  ?  I  arrived  unexpectedly  and  Geoffrey  is 
away,  but  I  shall  be  glad  to  play  host  in  his  ab 
sence." 

"  Thanks,  I  will  run  home  at  once.  No  one  knows 
where  I  am,  and  Prue  will  begin  to  worry  if  I  don't 
appear.  Come  and  let  my  father  thank  you  better 
than  I  can." 

"  I  will.  Good-night."  And  with  a  nod  and  a 
smile  they  parted,  Warwick  to  tramp  down  the  ave 
nue  without  looking  back,  and  Sylvia  to  hasten  home, 
feeling  that  if  she  went  out  seeking  for  adventures, 
she  certainly  had  been  gratified. 

She  said  nothing  to  Prue,  and  when,  later  in  the 
evening,  Moor  brought  his  friend  to  see  Max  and  in 
quire  for  the  half-drowned  damsel,  she  emerged  from 
behind  the  curtains  looking  as  brilliant  and  serene  as 
if  salt  water  and  gales  of  wind  agreed  with  her  ad 
mirably. 

As  Warwick  was  formally  presented  to  the  sisters, 
Sylvia  put  her  finger  on  her  lips  and  with  a  look  be 
sought  silence  regarding  her  last  prank.  Warwick 
answered  with  a  quick  glance,  a  courteous  greeting,  and 
turned  away  as  if  they  had  never  met  before.  Moor 
smiled,  but  said  nothing,  and  soon  the  gentlemen  were 
deep  in  conversation,  while  Prue  dozed  behind  a  fire 
screen  and  Sylvia  sat  in  the  sofa  corner  studying  the 
faces  before  her. 


WARWICK.  59 

Presently  her  brother  caught  her  eye,  and  as  art 
was  not  the  topic  under  discussion  just  at  that  mo 
ment,  he  strolled  over  to  ask  the  cause  of  her  unusual 
condescension,  for  she  generally  vanished  when  stran 
gers  came. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  all  by  yourself,  young 
person  ? " 

"I  am  watching  your  two  friends,  and  thinking 
what  a  fine  study  they  make  with  the  red  firelight  on 
their  faces." 

They  did  make  a  fine  study,  for  both  were  goodly 
men,  yet  utterly  unlike ;  one  being  of  the  heroic,  the 
other  of  the  poetic  type.  Warwick  was  a  head  taller 
than  his  tall  friend,  broad-shouldered,  strong-limbed, 
and  bronzed  by  wind  and  weather.  A  massive  head, 
covered  with  waves  of  ruddy  brown  hair,  gray  eyes 
that  seemed  to  pierce  through  all  disguises,  an  emi 
nent  nose,  and  a  beaxd  like  one  of  Max's  stout  saints. 
Power,  intellect,  and  courage  were  stamped  on  face 
and  figure,  making  him  the  manliest  man  Sylvia  had 
ever  seen.  He  sat  in  an  easy-chair,  yet  nothing  could 
have  been  less  reposeful  than  his  attitude,  for  the  na 
tive  energy  of  the  man  asserted  itself  in  spite  of  the 
soothing  influences  of  time  and  place ;  while  his  con 
versation  was  so  vigorous  that  Mr.  Yule  looked  both 
startled  and  fascinated  by  its  unusual  charm. 

Moor  was  much  slighter,  and  betrayed  in  every  ges 
ture  the  unconscious  grace  and  ease  of  the  gentleman 
born.  A  most  attractive  face,  with  its  broad  brow, 
serene  eyes,  and  the  cordial  smile  about  the  mouth. 


60  MOODS. 

A  sweet,  strong  nature,  one  would  say,  which,  hav 
ing  used  life  well,  had  learned  the  secret  of  content. 
Inward  tranquillity  seemed  his,  and  as  he  listened 
to  his  friend,  it  was  plain  to  see  that  no  touch  of  light 
or  color  in  the  pleasant  room,  no  word  or  look  or  laugh, 
was  without  its  charm  and  its  significance  for  him. 

"  Tell  me  about  Mr.  Warwick,  Max.  I  have  heard 
you  speak  of  him  since  you  came  home,  but,  supposing 
he  was  some  blowzy  artist,  I  never  cared  to  ask,  and 
Mr.  Moor  would  not  say  much.  Now  I  have  seen  him, 
I  want  to  know  more,"  said  Sylvia,  as  her  brother  sat 
down 'beside  her  with  an  approving  glance  at  the 
group  opposite. 

"  I  met  him  in  Germany  when  I  first  went  over, 
and  since  then  we  have  often  met  in  our  wanderings. 
He  never  writes,  but  goes  and  comes  intent  upon  his 
own  affairs ;  yet  one  never  can  forget  him,  and  is  al 
ways  glad  to  feel  the  grip  of  his  hand  again,  it  seems 
to  put  such  life  and  courage  into  one." 

"  So  it  does,"  said  Sylvia,  remembering  the  grasp 
that  swept  her  out  of  danger  and  led  her  up  the  cliff. 
"  Is  he  good  ? "  she  added,  woman-like,  beginning  with 
the  morals. 

"  Violently  virtuous.  He  is  a  masterful  soul,  bent 
on  living  out  his  aspirations  and  beliefs  at  any  cost ; 
much  given  to  denunciation  of  wrong-doing  every 
where,  and  eager  to  execute  justice  upon  all  offenders 
high  or  low.  Yet  he  possesses  great  nobility  of  char 
acter,  great  audacity  of  mind,  and  leads  a  life  of  the 
sternest  integrity." 


WARWICK.  61 

"Is  he  rich?" 

"  In  his  own  eyes,  because  he  makes  his  wants  so 
few." 

"  Is  he  married  ? " 

"  JSTo  ;  he  has  no  family  and  not  many  friends,  for  he 
says  what  he  means  in  the  bluntest  English,  and  few 
stand  the  test  his  sincerity  applies." 

"  What  does  he  do  in  the  world  ? " 

"  Studies  it,  as  we  do  books  ;  dives  into  everything, 
analyzes  character,  and  builds  up  his  own  with  mate 
rials  which  will  last.  If  that 's  not  genius,  it  is  some 
thing  better." 

"  Then  he  will  do  much  good  and  be  famous,  won't 
he  ? " 

"  Great  good  to  many,  but  never  will  be  famous, 
I  fear.  He  is  too  fierce  an  iconoclast  to  suit  the  old 
party,  too  individual  a  reformer  to  join  the  new ;  so 
he  must  bide  his  time,  and  do  what  he  can." 

"  Is  he  learned  ?  " 

"  Very,  in  uncommon  sorts  of  wisdom.  He  left  col 
lege  after  a  year  of  it,  because  it  could  not  give  him 
what  he  wanted,  and,  taking  the  world  for  his  book, 
life  for  his  tutor,  says  he  shall  not  graduate  till  his 
term  ends  with  his  days." 

"I  like  that,  and  I  think  I  shall  like  him  very 
much." 

"  I  hope  so.  He  is  a  grand  man  in  the  rough,  and 
an  excellent  tonic  for  those  who  have  the  courage  to 
try  him.  He  did  me  much  good,  and  I  admire  him 
heartily." 


62  MOODS. 

Sylvia  was  silent,  thinking  over  what  she  had  just 
heard,  and  finding  much  to  interest  her  in  it,  because 
to  her  imaginative  and  enthusiastic  nature  there  was 
something  irresistibly  attractive  in  the  strong,  free, 
self-reliant  man. 

Max  watched  her  for  a  moment,  then  asked  with 
lazy  curiosity,  — 

"  How  do  you  like  this  other  friend  of  mine  whom 
you  know  better  ? " 

"  He  went  away  when  I  was  such  a  child  that  since 
he  came  back  I  have  had  to  begin  again,  but  so  far 
he  is  all  you  said,  and  I  feel  that  I  should  like  to 
make  him  my  friend  too,  he  is  so  gentle,  wise,  and 
patient  with  me." 

Max  laughed  at  the  innocent  frankness  of  his  sis 
ter's  speech,  and  answered  warningly,  "Better  leave 
Platonics  alone  till  you  are  forty.  Though  Moor  is 
years  older  than  you,  he  is  a  young  man  still,  and  you 
are  getting  to  be  a  very  captivating  little  woman." 

Sylvia  looked  both  scornful  and  indignant. 

"  You  need  have  no  fears.  There  is  such  a  thing 
as  honest  friendship  between  men  and  women,  and  if 
I  can  find  no  one  of  my  own  sex  to  suit  me,  why 
may  I  not  look  for  help  and  happiness  elsewhere,  and 
accept  them  in  whatever  shape  they  come  ? " 

"  You  may,  my  dear,  and  I  '11  lend  a  hand  with  all 
my  heart,  only  you  must  be  ready  to  take  the  conse 
quences  in  whatever  shape  they  come,"  said  Max, 
well  pleased  with  the  prospect  his  fancy  conjured  up, 
stimulated  by  certain  signs  which  he  saw  more  clearly 
than  his  sister  did. 


WARWICK.  63 

"  I  will,"  replied  Sylvia  loftily,  and  fate  took  her  at 
her  word. 

Here  several  neighbors  came  in,  and  when  the  little 
stir  was  over  the  girl  found  Warwick  on  the  sofa,  to 
which  she  had  retired  again  as  the  guests  were  ab 
sorbed  by  other  members  of  the  family.  She  thought 
he  would  allude  to  their  first  meeting,  but  he  sat 
silently  scrutinizing  the  faces  before  him  as  if  quite 
unconscious  of  his  little  neighbor. 

"  I  must  say  something,"  thought  Sylvia,  when  the 
pause  had  lasted  several  minutes,  and,  turning  toward 
him,  she  asked  rather  timidly,  — 

"  Don't  you  care  for  conversation,  Mr.  Warwick  ? " 

"  I  seldom  get  any." 

"  Why,  what  is  that  going  on  all  about  us  ? " 

"  Listen  a  moment  and  you  will  hear." 

She  obeyed,  and  began  to  laugh,  for  her  ear  received 
a  medley  of  sounds  and  subjects  so  oddly  blended  and 
so  flippantly  discussed  that  the  effect  was  very  ludi 
crous.  On  one  side  she  heard,  "  Mr.  Moor,  it  was  the 
divinest  polka  I  ever  danced  ; "  on  the  other  Prue  was 
declaring,  "My  dear,  nothing  is  so  good  for  an  in 
flamed  eye  as  a  delicate  alum  curd ; "  behind  her  Max 
was  tenderly  explaining,  "  You  see,  Miss  Jessie,  it  is 
the  effect  of  this  shadow  which  gives  the  picture  its 
depth  and  juiciness  of  tone  ; "  and  above  all  rose  Mr. 
Yule's  decided  opinion  that  "We  must  protect  our 
own  interests,  sir,  or  the  country  is  in  danger." 

"  Do  you  like  pictures  ? "  asked  Sylvia,  changing 
the  subject,  as  her  first  venture  proved  a  failure. 


64  MOODS. 

"  That  sort  very  much,"  answered  Warwick,  with  a 
glance  at  the  various  faces  he  had  been  studying  so 
intently. 

"  So  do  I ! "  cried  the  girl,  feeling  that  they  should 
get  on  now,  for  she  loved  to  study  character  in  that 
way,  and  was  quick  to  read  it.  "  I  fancy  faces  are  the 
illustrations  to  the  books  which  people  are.  Some 
titlepages  are  very  plain  to  read,  some  very  difficult, 
a  few  most  attractive  ;  but  as  a  general  thing  I  don't 
care  to  go  farther.  Do  you  ? " 

"  Yes ;  I  find  them  all  interesting  and  instructive, 
and  am  never  tired  of  turning  the  pages  and  reading 
between  the  lines.  Let  us  see  how  skilful  you  are. 
What  do  you  call  Max  ?"  asked  Warwick,  looking  as 
if  he  found  the  small  volume  just  opened  to  him 
rather  attractive. 

"  He  is  a  portfolio  of  good,  bad,  and  indifferent  pic 
tures.  I  hope  he  will  fall  to  work  and  finish  one  at 
least ;  the  portrait  of  a  happy  man  and  a  successful 
artist."  And  Sylvia's  eyes  were  full  of  wistful  affec 
tion  as  they  rested  on  her  handsome,  indolent  brother, 
who  never  gave  her  an  opportunity  to  be  proud  of 
him. 

"I  think  he  will  if  he  does  not  waste  his  time 
studying  fashion-plates,"  said  Warwick,  regarding  the 
young  lady  whom  Max  was  evidently  wooing,  very 
much  as  a  lion  might  regard  a  butterfly. 

"  There  is  a  heart  under  the  ruffles,  and  we  are  all 
fond  of  Jessie.  Don't  you  think  her  pretty,  sir  ? " 

"  No." 


WARWICK.  65 

"That's  frank,"  thought  the  girl,  adding  aloud, 
«  Why  not  ? " 

"Because  she  has  no  more  character  in  her  face 
than  the  white  rose  in  her  hair." 

"  But  the  rose  has  a  very  sweet  odor,  and  no  thorns 
for  those  who  handle  it  gently,  as  flowers  should  be 
handled,"  said  Sylvia,  with  a  reproachful  look  from 
her  brother's  happy  face  to  the  rather  grim  one  beside 
her. 

"  I  am  apt  to  forget  that,  so  I  get  pricked,  and  de 
serve  it.  Will  Max's  sister  forgive  Max's  friend,  who 
sincerely  wishes  him  well  ?  " 

"  WTith  all  my  heart,  and  thank  you  for  the  wish," 
cried  the  girl  readily,  adding  in  a  moment  with  wo 
manly  tact,  "  But  I  did  not  finish  my  catalogue.  Do 
you  want  to  hear  the  rest  and  tell  me  if  I  am 
right?" 

"  Yes  ;  who  comes  next  ? " 

"  Prue  is  a  receipt  book,  Mr.  Moor  a  volume  of  fine 
poems,  and  Papa  a  ledger  with  dead  flowers  and  old 
love-letters  hidden  away  in  its  dull-looking  leaves." 

"  Very  good ;  and  what  am  I  ?  Come,  you  have 
made  up  your  mind,  I  think,  and  I  shall  like  to  see 
how  correct  you  are." 

Sylvia  hesitated  an  instant,  but  something  in  the 
commanding  voice  and  the  challenge  of  the  eye  gave 
her  courage  to  answer  with  a  smile  and  a  blush,  — 

"  You  remind  me  of  Sartor  Eesartus,  which  I 
once  heard  called  a  fine  mixture  of  truth,  satire, 
wisdom,  and  oddity." 

5 


66  MOODS. 

Warwick  looked  as  if  he  had  got  another  prick,  but 
laughed  his  deep  laugh,  exclaiming  in  surprise, — 

"  Bless  the  child !  how  came  she  to  read  that  book  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  found  it  and  liked  it,  for,  though  I  could 
not  understand  all  of  it,  I  felt  stirred  and  strengthened 
by  the  strong  words  and  large  thoughts.  Don't  you 
like  it  ? "  asked  Sylvia,  taking  a  girlish  pleasure  in 
his  astonishment. 

"  It  is  one  of  my  favorite'  books,  and  the  man  who 
wrote  it  one  of  my  most  honored  masters." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  him  ?  "  asked  the  girl  eagerly. 

He  had,  and  went  on  to  tell  her  in  brief,  expres 
sive  phrases  much  that  delighted  and  comforted  her, 
for  she  was  a  hero-worshipper  and  loved  to  find  new 
gods  to  look  up  to  and  love. 

It  was  a  delicious  half-hour  to  Sylvia,  for  the 
talk  wandered  far  and  wide,  led  by  intelligent  ques 
tions,  eloquent  answers,  and  mutual  enthusiasm ; 
though  almost  a  monologue,  she  felt  that  this  was 
conversation  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word.  Moor 
stole  up  behind  them  and  listened  silently,  enjoying 
both  speaker  and  listener,  who  welcomed  him  with  a 
look  and  felt  the  charm  of  his  genial  presence. 

The  end  came  all  too  soon,  and  Sylvia  was  forced 
to  leave  the  fine  society  of  poets  and  philosophers 
and  bid  her  neighbors  good-night.  She  felt  as  if  she 
had  fallen  from  the  clouds,  and  with  a  vague  hope  of 
continuing  the  pleasant  talk  she  said  to  Warwick,  as 
they  stood  together  while  Moor  made  his  adieux  with 
the  old-fashioned  courtesy  Mr.  Yule  liked,  — 


WARWICK.  67 

"  Tell  me  what  sort  of  book  I  am ;  and  tell  me 
truly  as  I  did  you." 

"  '  The  Story  without  an  End.'  Did  you  ever  read 
it  ? "  he  asked  with  the  look  of  benignity  that  some 
times  made  his  face  beautiful. 

"  Yes ;  I  wish  I  might  be  as  lovely,  innocent,  and 
true  as  that  is.  Thank  you  very  much."  And  Sylvia 
put  her  small  hand  into  the  large  one  as  confidingly 
as  the  child  in  the  pretty  allegory  might  have  done, 
feeling  better  for  the  cordial  grasp  that  accompanied 
his  good-night. 

"  How  do  you  like  Adam,  sir  ?  "  asked  Max  of  his 
father  when  the  family  were  alone. 

"  A  fine  man,  but  he  needs  polishing,"  answered 
Mr.  Yule,  who  had  found  his  guest  interesting,  but 
far  too  radical  for  his  taste. 

"  What  is  your  opinion,  Prue  ?  " 

"  He  rather  affects  me  like  a  gale  of  wind,  refresh 
ing,  but  one  never  knows  where  one  may  be  carried  ; 
and  when  he  looks  about  with  those  searching  eyes 
of  his,  I  am  painfully  conscious  of  every  speck  of  lint 
on  the  carpet,  for  nothing  seems  to  escape  him," 
answered  Prue,  setting  the  disordered  furniture  to 
rights,  lest  the  thought  of  it  should  keep  her  from 
sleeping. 

"  Well,  Sylvia,  is  he  odd  enough  to  suit  your 
taste  ? " 

"  I  like  him  very,  very  much,  only  I  feel  unusually 
young  and  small  and  silly  beside  him,  and  he  makes 
me  dreadfully  tired,  much  as  I  enjoy  him." 


68  MOODS. 


She  looked  so,  as  she  pressed  her  hands  against  her 
flushed  cheeks,  for  her  eyes  were  bright  and  eager, 
her  whole  air  unquiet  yet  weary,  and  she  wore  the 
look  of  inward  excitement  which  henceforth  was  to 
mark  her  intercourse  with  Adam  Warwick. 


AFLOAT.  69 

CHAPTER  V. 

AFLOAT. 

A  WEEK  later  Sylvia  sat  sewing  in  the  sunshine 
one  lovely  morning,  longing  to  roam  away  as  she 
used  to  do,  but  restrained  by  a  hope  stronger  than  obe 
dience  to  Prue's  commands.  She  had  been  left  much 
to  herself  of  late,  for  Max  had  been  away  with  Moor 
and  Warwick,  enjoying  themselves  in  their  own  fash 
ion,  and  the  girl  had  only  had  brief  glimpses  of  the 
three  friends.  Max  brought  home  such  tantalizing 
accounts  of  their  sayings  and  doings  that  she  felt  an 
ever  increasing  desire  to  share  the  good  things  which 
were  more  to  her  taste  than  girlish  trifles  or  the  soli 
tary  revels  she  used  to  like. 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  must  sit  here  and  hem  night 
cap  strings  when  the  world  is  full  of  pleasant  places 
and  delightful  people,  if  I  could  only  be  allowed  to  go 
and  find  them.  Prue  is  much  too  particular,  and  thinks 
all  men  alike.  I  know  they  would  like  to  have  me 
over  there  if  Max  would  only  take  me.  I  Ve  stood 
hours  for  him  and  he  forgets  it.  Brothers  are  all 
selfish,  I  'm  afraid.  I  wish  I  were  a  boy,  or  could  be 
contented  with  what  other  girls  like." 

Here  voices  roused  her  from  her  reverie,  and  look 
ing  up  she  saw  Max  and  his  friends  approaching. 


70  MOODS. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  throw  down  her  work  and 
run  to  meet  them,  her  second  to  remember  her  dig 
nity  and  sit  still,  awaiting  them  with  well-bred  com 
posure,  quite  unconscious  that  the  white  figure  among 
the  vines  added  a  picturesque  finish  to  the  scene. 

They  came  up  warm  and  merry  from  a  brisk  row 
across  the  bay,  and  Sylvia  greeted  them  with  a  face 
that  gave  a  heartier  welcome  than  her  words,  as  she 
began  to  gather  up  her  work  when  they  seated  them 
selves  in  the  bamboo  chairs  scattered  along  the  wide 
piazza. 

"You  need  not  disturb  yourself,"  said  Max;  "we 
are  only  making  this  a  way  station  en  route,  for  the 
studio.  Can  you  tell  me  where  my  knapsack  is  to 
be  found  ?  After  one  of  Prue's  stowages,  nothing 
short  of  a  divining  rod  will  find  it,  I  'm  afraid." 

"  I  know  where  it  is.  Are  you  going  away  again 
so  soon,  Max  ? " 

"  Only  a  two  or  three  days'  trip  up  the  river  with 
these  mates  of  mine.  No,  Sylvia,  it  can't  be  done." 

"  I  did  not  say  anything." 

"  Not  in  words,  but  you  looked  a  whole  volley  of 
'  Can't  I  goes  ? '  and  I  answered  it.  No  girl  but  you 
would  dream  of  such  a  thing ;  you  hate  picnics,  and 
as  this  will  be  a  long  and  rough  one,  don't  you  see 
how  absurd  it  would  be  for  you  to  try  it  ? " 

"  I  don't  quite  see  it,  Max,  for  this  would  not  be  an 
ordinary  picnic ;  it  would  be  like  a  little  romance  to 
me,  and  I  had  rather  have  it  than  any  present  you 
could  give  me.  We  used  to  have  such  happy  times 


AFLOAT.  71 

together  before  we  were  grown  up,  I  don't  like  to  be 
so  separated  now.  But  if  it  is  not  best,  I'm  sorry  that 
I  even  looked  a  wish." 

Sylvia  tried  to  keep  both  disappointment  and  desire 
out  of  her  voice  as  she  spoke,  though  a  most  intense 
longing  had  taken  possession  of  her  when  she  heard 
of  a  projected  pleasure  so  entirely  after  her  own  heart. 
But  there  was  an  unconscious  reproach  in  her  last 
words,  a  mute  appeal  in  the  wistful  eyes  that  looked 
across  the  glittering  bay  to  the  green  hills  beyond. 
Now  Max  was  both  fond  and  proud  of  the  young 
sister,  who,  while  he  was  studying  art  abroad,  had 
studied  nature  at  home,  till  the  wayward  but  winning 
child  had  bloomed  into  a  most  attractive  girl.  He 
remembered  her  devotion  to  him,  his  late  neglect  of 
her,  and  longed  to  make  atonement.  With  elevated 
eyebrows  and  inquiring  glances  he  turned  from  one 
friend  to  another. 

"  Why  not  ? "  asked  Moor,  with  a  smile  of  pleasure. 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Warwick,  with  a  decided  nod. 

Being  satisfied  on  that  point,  though  still  very 
doubtful  of  the  propriety  of  the  step,  Max  relented, 
saying  suddenly,  — 

"  You  can  go,  Sylvia." 

"  What !  "  cried  his  sister,  starting  up  with  a  char 
acteristic  impetuosity  that  sent  her  basket  tumbling 
down  the  steps,  and  crowned  her  dozing  cat  with 
Prue's  nightcap  frills.  "Do  you  mean  it,  Max? 
Would  n't  it  spoil  your  pleasure,  Mr.  Moor  ?  Should 
n't  I  be  a  trouble,  Mr.  Warwick  ?  Tell  me  frankly, 


72  MOODS. 

for  if  I  can  go  I  shall  be  happier  than  I  can  ex 
press." 

The  gentlemen  smiled  at  her  eagerness,  but  as  they 
saw  the  altered  face  she  turned  toward  them,  each 
felt  already  repaid  for  any  loss  of  freedom  they  might 
experience  hereafter,  and  gave  unanimous  consent. 
Upon  receipt  of  which  Sylvia  felt  inclined  to  dance 
about  the  three  and  bless  them  audibly,  but  re 
strained  herself,  and  beamed  upon  them  in  a  state  of 
wordless  gratitude  pleasant  to  behold.  Having  given 
a  rash  consent,  Max  now  thought  best  to  offer  a  few 
obstacles  to  enhance  its  value  and  try  his  sister's 
mettle. 

"  Don't  ascend  into  the  air  like  a  young  balloon, 
child,  but  hear  the  conditions  upon  which  you  go,  for 
if  you  fail  to  work  three  miracles  it  is  all  over  with 
you.  Firstly,  the  consent  of  the  higher  powers,  for 
father  will  dread  all  sorts  of  dangers,  you  are  such  a 
freakish  creature,  and  Prue  will  be  scandalized  because 
trips  like  this  are  not  the  fashion  for  young  ladies." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  they  are.  I  went  with  a 
party  of  young  people  last  year  and  camped  out  for 
a  week.  All  were  brothers  and  sisters  or  cousins,  and 
we  had  a  lovely  time.  Papa  likes  me  to  be  happy, 
and  Prue  won't  mind,  as  you  are  all  so  much  older 
than  I  am,  and  two  of  you  like  brothers  to  me.  Con 
sider  that  point  settled,  and  go  on  to  the  next,'' 
said  Sylvia,  who,  having  ruled  the  house  ever  since 
she  was  born,  had  no  fears  of  success  with  either  father 
or  sister. 


AFLOAT.  73 

"  Secondly,  you  must  do  yourself  up  in  as  compact 
a  parcel  as  possible,  for  though  you  little  women  are 
very  ornamental  on  land  you  are  not  very  convenient 
for  transportation  by  water.  Cambric  gowns  and 
French  slippers  are  highly  appropriate  and  agreeable 
at  the  present  moment,  but  must  be  sacrificed  to  the 
stern  necessities  of  the  case.  You  must  make  a  dowdy 
of  yourself  in  some  usefully  short,  scant,  dingy  cos 
tume,  which  will  try  the  nerves  of  all  beholders,  and 
triumphantly  prove  that  women  were  never  meant  for 
such  excursions." 

"Wait  five  minutes  and  1 11  triumphantly  prove  to  the 
contrary,"  answered  Sylvia,  as  she  ran  into  the  house. 

Her  five  minutes  were  sufficiently  elastic  to  cover 
fifteen,  for  she  was  ravaging  her  wardrobe  to  effect 
her  purpose  and  convince  her  brother,  whose  artistic 
tastes  she  consulted  with  a  skill  that  did  her  good 
service  in  the  end.  Eapidly  assuming  a  gray  gown, 
with  a  jaunty  jacket  of  the  same,  she  kilted  the  skirt 
over  one  of  green,  the  pedestrian  length  of  which 
displayed  boots  of  uncompromising  thickness.  Over 
her  shoulder,  by  a  broad  ribbon,  she  slung  a  prettily 
wrought  pouch,  and  ornamented  her  hat  pilgrim- 
wise  with  a  cockle  shell.  Then,  taking  her  brother's 
alpenstock,  she  crept  down,  and,  standing  in  the  door 
way,  presented  a  little  figure  all  in  gray  and  green, 
like  the  earth  she  was  going  to  wander  over,  and  a 
face  that  blushed  and  smiled  and  shone  as  she  asked 
demurely,  — 

"Please,  Max,  am  I  picturesque  and  convenient 
enough  to  go  ?  " 


74  MOODS. 

He  wheeled  about  and  stared  approvingly,  forget 
ting  cause  in  effect  till  Warwick  began  to  laugh  like 
a  merry  bass-viol,  and  Moor  joined  him,  saying,  — 

"  Come,  Max,  own  that  you  are  conquered,  and  let 
us  turn  our  commonplace  voyage  into  a  pleasure  pil 
grimage,  with  a  lively  lady  to  keep  us  knights  and 
gentlemen  wherever  we  are." 

"  I  say  no  more  ;  only  remember,  Sylvia,  if  you  get 
burnt,  drowned,  or  blown  away,  I  'm  not  responsible 
for  the  damage,  and  shall  have  the  satisfaction  of 
saying, '  There,  I  told  you  so.'  " 

"  That  satisfaction  may  be  mine  when  I  come  home 
quite  safe  and  well,"  replied  Sylvia  serenely.  "  Now 
for  the  last  condition." 

"Warwick  looked  with  interest  from  the  sister  to 
the  brother ;  for,  being  a  solitary  man,  domestic  scenes 
and  relations  possessed  the  charm  of  novelty  to  him. 

"  Thirdly,  you  are  not  to  carry  a  boat-load  of  lug 
gage,  cloaks,  pillows,  silver  forks,  or  a  dozen  napkins, 
but  are  to  fare  as  we  fare,  sleeping  in  hammocks,  barns, 
or  on  the  bare  ground,  without  shrieking  at  bats  or 
bewailing  the  want  of  mosquito  netting  ;  eating  when, 
where,  and  what  is  most  convenient,  and  facing  all 
kinds  of  weather,  regardless  of  complexion,  dishevel- 
inent,  and  fatigue.  If  you  can  promise  all  this,  be 
here  loaded  and  ready  to  go  off  at  six  o'clock  to 
morrow  morning." 

After  which  cheerful  picture  of  the  joys  to  come, 
Max  marched  away  to  his  studio,  taking  his  friends 
with  him. 


AFLOAT.  75 

Sylvia  worked  the  three  miracles,  and  at  half-past 
five  A.  M.  was  discovered  sitting  on  the  piazza,  with 
her  hammock  rolled  into  a  twine  sausage  at  her  feet, 
her  hat  firmly  tied  on,  her  scrip  packed,  and  her  staff 
in  her  hand.  "  Waiting  till  called  for,"  she  said,  as 
her  brother  passed  her,  late  and  yawning  as  usual. 
As  the  clock  struck  six  the  carriage  drove  round,  and 
Moor  and  Warwick  came  up  the  avenue  in  nautical 
array.  Then  arose  a  delightful  clamor  of  voices, 
slamming  of  doors,  hurrying  of  feet,  and  frequent 
peals  of  laughter ;  for  every  one  was  in  holiday  spir 
its,  and  the  morning  seemed  made  for  pleasuring. 

Mr.  Yule  regarded  the  voyagers  with  an  aspect  as 
benign  as  the  summer  sky  overhead ;  Prue  ran  to 
and  fro  pouring  forth  a  stream  of  counsels,  warnings, 
and  predictions;  men  and  maids  gathered  on  the 
lawn  or  hung  out  of  upper  windows ;  and  even  old 
Hecate,  the  cat,  was  seen  chasing  imaginary  rats  and 
mice  in  the  grass  till  her  yellow  eyes  glared  with 
excitement.  "All  in,"  was  announced  at  last,  and 
as  the  carriage  rolled  away  its  occupants  looked  at 
one  another  with  faces  of  blithe  satisfaction  that  their 
pilgrimage  was  so  auspiciously  begun. 

A  mile  or  more  up  the  river  the  large,  newly 
painted  boat  awaited  them.  The  embarkation  was  a 
speedy  one,  for  the  cargo  was  soon  stowed  in  lockers 
and  under  seats ;  Sylvia  forwarded  to  her  place  in  the 
bow ;  Max,  as  commander  of  the  craft,  took  the  helm  ; 
Moor  and  Warwick,  as  crew,  sat  waiting  orders ;  and 
Hugh,  the  coachman,  stood  ready  to  push  off  at  the 


76  MOODS. 

word  of  command.  Presently  it  came,  a  strong  hand 
sent  them  rustling  through  the  flags,  down  dropped 
the  uplifted  oars,  and  with  a  farewell  cheer  from  a 
group  upon  the  shore  the  Kelpie  glided  out  into  the 
stream. 

Sylvia,  too  full  of  genuine  content  to  talk,  sat  lis 
tening  to  the  musical  dip  of  well-pulled  oars,  watch 
ing  the  green  banks  on  either  side,  dabbling  her  hands 
in  the  eddies  as  they  rippled  by,  and  singing  to  the 
wind,  as  cheerful  and  serene  as  the  river  that  gave 
her  back  a  smiling  image  of  herself.  What  her  com 
panions  talked  of  she  neither  heard  nor  cared  to 
know,  for  she  was  looking  at  the  great  picture-book 
that  always  lies  ready  for  the  turning  of  the  youngest 
or  the  oldest  hands,  was  receiving  the  welcome  of 
the  playmates  she  best  loved,  and  was  silently  yield 
ing  herself  to  the  power  which  works  all  wonders 
with  its  benignant  magic.  Hour  after  hour  she 
journeyed  along  that  fluent  road.  Under  bridges 
where  early  fishers  lifted  up  their  lines  to  let  them 
through ;  past  gardens  tilled  by  unskilful  townsmen, 
who  harvested  an  hour  of  strength  to  pay  the  daily 
tax  the  city  levied  on  them  ;  past  honeymoon  cot 
tages  where  young  wives  walked  with  young  hus 
bands  in  the  dew,  or  great  houses  shut  against  the 
morning.  Lovers  came  floating  down  the  stream 
with  masterless  rudder  and  trailing  oars.  College 
race-boats  shot  by  with  modern  Greek  choruses  in 
full  blast  and  the  frankest  criticisms  from  their  sci 
entific  crews.  Fathers  went  rowing  to  and  fro  with 


AFLOAT.  77 

argosies  of  pretty  children,  who  gave  them  gay  good- 
morrows.  Sometimes  they  met  fanciful  nutshells 
manned  by  merry  girls,  wrho  made  for  shore  at  sight 
of  them  with  most  erratic  movements  and  novel  com 
mands  included  in  their  Art  of  Navigation.  Now 
and  then  some  poet  or  philosopher  went  musing  by, 
fishing  for  facts  or  fictions  where  other  men  catch 
pickerel  or  perch. 

All  manner  of  sights  and  sounds  greeted  Sylvia, 
and  she  felt  as  if  she  were  watching  a  panorama 
painted  in  water-colors  by  an  artist  who  had  breathed 
into  his  work  the  breath  of  life  and  given  each  figure 
power  to  play  its  part.  Never  had  human  faces 
looked  so  lovely  to  her  eye,  for  morning  beautified 
the  plainest  with  its  ruddy  kiss;  never  had  human 
voices  sounded  so  musical  to  her  ear,  for  daily  cares 
had  not  yet  brought  discord  to  the  instruments  tuned 
by  sleep  and  touched  by  sunshine  into  pleasant  sound  ; 
never  had  the  whole  race  seemed  so  near  and  dear  to 
her,  for  she  was  unconsciously  pledging  all  she  met 
in  that  genuine  Elixir  Vitse  which  sets  the  coldest 
blood  aglow  and  makes  the  whole  world  kin ;  never 
had  she  felt  so  truly  her  happiest  self,  for,  of  all  the 
costlier  pleasures  she  had  known,  not  one  had  been 
so  congenial  as  this,  as  she  rippled  farther  and  farther 
up  the  stream  and  seemed  to  float  into  a  world  whose 
airs  brought  only  health  and  peace.  Her  comrades 
wisely  left  her  to  her  thoughts,  a  smiling  Silence  for 
their  figure-head,  and  none  among  them  but  found 
the  day  fairer  and  felt  himself  fitter  to  enjoy  it  for 


78  MOODS. 

the  innocent  companionship  of  maidenhood  and  a 
happy  heart. 

At  noon  they  dropped  anchor  under  a  group  of  wide- 
spreading  hemlocks  that  stood  on  the  river's  edge,  a 
green  tent  for  wanderers  like  themselves  ;  there  they 
ate  their  first  meal  spread  among  white  clovers,  with  a 
pair  of  squirrels  staring  at  them  as  curiously  as  human 
spectators  ever  watched  royalty  at  dinner,  while  sev 
eral  meek  cows  courteously  left  their  guests  the  shade 
and  went  away  to  dine  at  a  side-table  spread  in  the 
sun.  They  spent  an  hour  or  two  talking  or  drowsing 
luxuriously  on  the  grass  ;  then  the  springing  up  of  a 
fresh  breeze  roused  them  all,  and  weighing  anchor 
they  set  sail  for  another  port. 

Now  Sylvia  saw  new  pictures,  for,  leaving  all  traces 
of  the  city  behind  them,  they  went  swiftly  country- 
ward.  Sometimes  by  hayfields,  each  an  idyl  in  itself, 
with  white-sleeved  mowers  all  arow ;  the  pleasant 
sound  of  whetted  scythes  ;  great  loads  rumbling  up 
lanes,  with  brown-faced  children  shouting  atop ;  rosy 
girls  raising  fragrant  windrows  or  bringing  water  for 
thirsty  sweethearts  leaning  on  their  rakes.  Often 
they  saw  ancient  farm-houses  with  mossy  roofs,  and 
long  well-sweeps  suggestive  of  fresh  draughts  and  the 
drip  of  brimming  pitchers  ;  orchards  and  cornfields 
rustling  on  either  hand,  and  grandmotherly  caps  at 
the  narrow  windows,  or  stout  matrons  tending  babies 
in  the  doorway  as  they  watched  smaller  selves  play 
ing  keep  house  under  the  "laylocks"  by  the  wall. 
Villages,  like  white  flocks,  slept  on  the  hillsides ; 


AFLOAT.  79 

martinbox  schoolhouses  appeared  here  and  there,  astir 
with  busy  voices,  alive  with  wistful  eyes ;  and  more 
than  once  they  came  upon  little  mermen  bathing,  who 
dived  with  sudden  splashes,  like  a  squad  of  turtles 
tumbling  off  a  sunny  rock. 

Then  they  went  floating  under  vernal  arches,  where 
a  murmurous  rustle  seemed  to  whisper,  "  Stay  ! "  along 
shadowless  sweeps,  where  the  blue  turned  to  gold  and 
dazzled  with  its  unsteady  shimmer;  passed  islands 
so  full  of  birds  they  seemed  green  cages  floating  in 
the  sun,  or  doubled  capes  that  opened  long  vistas  of 
light  and  shade,  through  which  they  sailed  into  the 
pleasant  land  where  summer  reigned  supreme.  To 
Sylvia  it  seemed  as  if  the  inhabitants  of  these  soli 
tudes  had  flocked  down  to  the  shore  to  greet  her  as 
she  came.  Fleets  of  lilies  unfurled  their  sails  on 
either  hand,  and  early  cardinal  flowers  waved  their 
scarlet  flags  among  the  green.  The  pontederia  lifted 
its  blue  spears  from  arrowy  leaves  ;  wild  roses  smiled 
at  her  with  blooming  faces ;  meadow  lilies  rang  their 
flame-colored  bells ;  and  clematis  and  ivy  hung  gar 
lands  everywhere,  as  if  hers  were  a  floral  progress, 
and  each  came  to  do  her  honor. 

Her  neighbors  kept  up  a  flow  of  conversation  as 
steady  as  the  river's,  and  Sylvia  listened  now.  Insen 
sibly  the  changeful  scenes  before  them  recalled  others, 
and  in  the  friendly  atmosphere  that  surrounded  them 
these  reminiscences  found  free  expression.  Each  of 
the  three  had  been  fortunate  in  seeing  much  of  foreign 
life;  each  had  seen  a  different  phase  of  it,  and  all 


80  MOODS. 

were  young  enough  to  be  still  enthusiastic,  accom 
plished  enough  to  serve  up  their  recollections  with 
taste  and  skill,  and  give  Sylvia  glimpses  of  the  world 
through  spectacles  sufficiently  rose-colored  to  lend  it 
the  warmth  which  even  Truth  allows  to  her  sister 
Eomance. 

The  wind  served  them  till  sunset ;  then  the  sail 
was  lowered,  and  the  rowers  took  to  their  oars.  Syl 
via  demanded  her  turn,  and  wrestled  with  one  big  oar 
while  Warwick  sat  behind  and  did  the  work.  Having 
blistered  her  hands  and  given  herself  as  fine  a  color 
as  any  on  her  brother's  palette,  she  professed  herself 
satisfied,  and  went  back  to  her  seat  to  watch  the 
evening  red  transfigure  earth  and  sky,  making  the 
river  and  its  banks  a  more  royal  pageant  than  splen 
dor-loving  Elizabeth  ever  saw  along  the  Thames. 

Anxious  to  reach  a  certain  point,  they  rowed  on 
into  the  twilight,  growing  stiller  and  stiller  as  the 
deepening  hush  seemed  to  hint  that  Nature  was  at 
her  prayers.  Slowly  the  Kelpie  floated  along  the 
shadowy  way,  and  as  the  shores  grew  dim,  the  river 
dark  with  leaning  hemlocks  or  an  overhanging  cliff, 
Sylvia  felt  as  if  she  were  making  the  last  voyage 
across  that  fathomless  stream  where  a  pale  boatman 
plies  and  many  go  lamenting. 

The  long  silence  was  broken  first  by  Moor's  voice, 
saying,  — 

"  Adam,  sing." 

If  the  influences  of  the  hour  had  calmed  Max, 
touched  Sylvia,  and  made  Moor  long  for  music,  they 


AFLOAT.  81 

had  also  softened  Warwick.  Leaning  on  his  oar,  he 
lent  the  music  of  a  mellow  voice  to  the  words  of  a 
German  Volkslied,  and  launched  a  fleet  of  echoes 
such  as  any  tuneful  vintager  might  have  sent  floating 
down  the  Ehine.  Sylvia  was  no  weeper,  but,  as  she 
listened,  all  the  day's  happiness  which  had  been  pent 
up  in  her  heart  found  vent  in  sudden  tears,  that 
streamed  down  noiseless  and  refreshing  as  a  warm 
south  rain.  Why  they  carne  she  could  not  tell,  for 
neither  song  nor  singer  possessed  the  power  to  win 
so  rare  a  tribute,  and  at  another  time  she  would  have 
restrained  all  visible  expression  of  this  indefinable, 
yet  sweet  emotion.  Max  and  Moor  had  joined  in 
the  burden  of  the  song,  and  when  that  was  done, 
took  up  another;  but  Sylvia  only  sat,  and  let  her 
tears  flow  while  they  would,  singing  at  heart,  though 
her  eyes  were  full  and  her  cheeks  wet  faster  than  the 
wind  could  kiss  them  dry. 

After  frequent  peerings  and  tackings  here  and  there, 
Max  at  last  discovered  the  haven  he  desired,  and 
with  much  rattling  of  oars,  clanking  of  chains,  and 
splashing  of  impetuous  boots,  a  landing  was  effected, 
and  Sylvia  found  herself  standing  on  a  green  bank 
with  her  hammock  in  her  arms  and  much  wonderment 
in  her  mind  whether  the  nocturnal  experiences  in 
store  for  her  would  prove  as  agreeable  as  the  daylight 
ones  had  been.  Max  and  Moor  unloaded  the  boat 
and  prospected  for  an  eligible  sleeping-place.  War 
wick,  being  an  old  campaigner,  set  about  building  a 
fire,  and  the  girl  began  her  sylvan  housekeeping.  The 


82  MOODS. 

scene  rapidly  brightened  into  light  and  color  as  the 
blaze  sprang  up,  showing  the  little  kettle  slung  gypsy- 
wise  on  forked  sticks,  and  the  supper  prettily  set  forth 
in  a  leafy  table-service  on  a  smooth,  flat  stone.  Soon 
four  pairs  of  wet  feet  surrounded  the  fire ;  an  agreeable 
oblivion  of  meum  and  tuum  concerning  plates,  knives, 
and  cups  did  away  with  etiquette ;  and  every  one  was 
in  a  comfortable  state  of  weariness,  which  rendered 
the  thought  of  bed  so  pleasant  that  they  deferred  their 
enjoyment  of  the  reality,  as  children  keep  the  best 
bite  till  the  last. 

Stories  were  told,  comic,  weird,  and  stirring,  and 
when  it  came  to  Sylvia's  turn  Max  said,  — 

"  We  have  worked  and  you  have  played ;  now  while 
we  rest  amuse  us  with  some  of  your  dramatic  pictures 
and  pieces,  as  you  do  me  when  you  are  tired  of  pos 
ing.  Make  that  rock  your  dressing-room  and  come 
out  into  the  firelight  when  you  are  ready.  She  really 
has  a  very  pretty  talent  for  that  sort  of  thing,  and  I  Ve 
taught  her  to  drape  and  pose  well." 

Excited  by  the  clay's  pleasure  and  emboldened  by 
the  shadows,  Sylvia  needed  little  urging,  for  she  was 
very  grateful  and  ardently  desired  to  make  herself 
agreeable  in  return  for  the  willing  service  of  her 
"knights  and  gentlemen."  She  vanished,  taking  with 
her  a  red  rug,  a  white  shawl,  and  her  blue  cloak  as 
wardrobe.  The  friends  sat  talking  of  the  great  actors 
they  had  known,  and  forgot  her  for  the  moment.  A 
sudden  start  from  Moor,  who  faced  the  rock,  made 
the  others  turn  to  see  Ophelia  standing  on  the  smooth 


AFLOAT.  83 

plat  of  grass  tliat  lay  between  the  fire  and  the  sombre 
pines  that  made  a  most  effective  background  for  the 
white  figure  with  its  crown  of  ferns,  wild  weeds,  and 
falling  hair.  One  hand  held  the  folds  of  the  shawl 
that  draped  her,  the  other  slowly  drew  from  it  the 
flowers  Sylvia  had  gathered  that  day,  to  offer  them 
now  to  imaginary  spectators  with  vacant  smiles,  wan 
dering  eyes,  and  broken  snatches  of  song  the  more 
pathetic  for  their  gayety. 

Even  Max  was  surprised  by  the  grace  and  skill 
with  which  she  played  her  part ;  the  others  looked  in 
silence  too  charmed  to  break  the  spell,  and  when  the 
poor  girl  dropped  her  last  garland  on  the  mimic  grave 
with  plaintive  music,  and  then  went  smiling  and  cour- 
tesying  away  to  her  sad  end,  they  sat  a  moment  silent 
with  sympathy,  before  their  applause  assured  the 
young  actress  that  her  effort  was  successful. 

Quicker  than  they  thought  possible  she  was  there 
again,  still  wrapped  in  the  same  shawl,  a  white  scarf 
about  the  head,  and  a  pine  cone  in  her  hand  to  repre 
sent  a  candle,  for  this  was  Lady  Macbeth  walking  in 
her  haunted  sleep.  The  sightless  eyes  were  fixed,  the 
brow  knit  with  remorseful  pain,  the  hands  wrung  to 
gether  as  the  light  fell,  and  the  lips  apa.t  to  vent  the 
heavy  breathing  of  a  sleeper.  She  spoke  the  words  in 
a  muffled  tone  that  gave  an  awful  meaning  to  her  omi 
nous  confessions,  and  when  she  vanished,  beckoning 
her  accomplice  away,  the  watchers  seemed  to  see  the 
guilty  pair  going  to  their  doom. 

"That  is  wonderful!     The  child  has  more  than 


84  MOODS. 

talent,  Max,  or  has  been  trained  by  a  better  master 
than  yourself,"  said  Moor,  looking  charmed  yet  troub 
led  by  this  display  of  unsuspected  power. 

"  She  has  it  in  her,  and  needs  no  master.  It  is  a 
perilous  gift,  but  has  its  uses,  for  the  pent-up  emo 
tions  can  find  a  safer  vent  in  this  way  than  in  melan 
choly  dreams  or  daring  action,"  answered  Warwick, 
remembering  the  tragic  face  he  had  caught  a  glimpse 
of  when  he  saved  Sylvia  from  the  sea. 

"  She  is  a  wonderful  little  thing  in  many  ways,  and 
I  often  puzzle  my  head  thinking  what  will  become  of 
her,  for  I  am  convinced  she  will  never  settle  down 
like  other  girls  without  some  sort  of  tribulation  or 
adventure,"  said  Max,  much  flattered  by  the  com 
mendation  of  his  friends. 

"  It  will  be  interesting  to  watch  the  unfolding  of 
this  modern  Mignon ;  I  hope  I  shall  be  here  to  see  it," 
answered  Moor,  little  dreaming  how  hard  a  part  he 
was  to  play  in  the  drama  of  Love's  Labor  Lost. 

"  Let  her  alone,  give  her  plenty  of  liberty,  and  I 
think  time  and  experience  will  make  a  noble  woman 
of  her,"  added  Warwick,  feeling  a  strong  sympathy  for 
this  ardent  girl,  who  with  all  the  luxury  about  her 
still  hungered  for  a  food  she  could  not  find. 

A  blithe  laugh  recalled  them,  and  Rosalind  saun 
tered  from  behind  the  rock  wrapped  in  the  cloak,  with 
a  little  cap  improvised  from  a  blue  silk  handkerchief 
upon  her  tucked-up  curls,  and  a  switch  in  her  hand, 
saying  aside  as  she  feigned  to  meet  Orlando,  — 

"  1 11  speak  to  him  like  a  saucy  lacquey,  and  under 


AFLOAT.  85 

that  habit  play  the  knave  with  him.  I  pray  you,  what 
is  't  o'clock  ? " 

Then  with  quick  changes  of  voice  and  manner  from 
the  half-indifferent  man  to  the  audacious  maid,  she 
gave  the  scene  between  the  two  with  a  spirit  and 
grace  which  kept  her  listeners  laughing  till  she  dis 
appeared  looking  over  her  shoulder  with  a  face  full 
of  merry  malice  as  she  led  the  invisible  Orlando 
away. 

"  Capital !  Bravo !  Encore ! "  cried  the  audience, 
eager  for  more  ;  and  inspired  by  their  hearty  pleasure, 
Sylvia  gave  them  the  balcony  scene  from  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  leaning  over  the  rock  with  all  her  bright  hair 
unbound,  white  arms  bare,  and  shawl  and  scarf  dis 
posed  ab  effectively  as  circumstances  would  permit 
against  the  scarlet  rug. 

This  was  the  best  of  all,  and  a  revelation  even  to 
her  brother ;  for  the  excitement  of  former  efforts,  the 
desire  to  do  her  best,  and  the  indescribable  charm 
the  part  always  had  for  her,  made  her  act  the  impas 
sioned  Juliet  to  the  life.  Place  and  hour  aided  her, 
for  the  moon  had  risen  and  shone  into  the  little  glade, 
lending  to  the  romantic  figure  an  enchantment  no 
stage  moon  ever  gave  it.  Max  also  helped  her,  for 
he  had  played  the  part,  and,  burning  to  distinguish 
himself,  sprang  forward  to  make  a  comely  Romeo,  in 
spite  of  the  high  boots,  blue  flannel  shirt,  and  water 
proof  mantle.  He  put  Jessie  Hope  in  Sylvia's  place, 
and  wooed  her  so  ardently  that  she  was  able  to  act 
with  all  her  heart,  rendering  the  tender  speeches  with 


86  MOODS. 

looks  and  gestures  full  of  an  innocent  abandon  both 
delightful  and  dangerous  to  the  beholders. 

"  What  a  lover  she  will  make  when  the  time 
comes,"  thought  Moor,  with  a  thrill,  as  she  leaned 
to  Romeo  full  of  a  love  and  longing  which  made  the 
girlish  face  wonderfully  eloquent. 

"  What  power  and  passion  the  little  creature  has  ! 
and  a  voice  to  lure  a  man's  heart  out  of  his  breast," 
said  Warwick,  as  Juliet  cried,  with  her  arms  about 
her  lover's  neck,  — 

"Sweet,  so  would  I  : 

Yet  I  should  kill  thee  with  much  cherishing. 
Good-night  !  good-night  !  parting  is  such  sweet  sorrow, 
That  I  shall  say  good-night  till  it  be  to-morrow  ! " 

Then,  as  if  abashed  at  her  forgetfulness  of  self, 
Sylvia  slipped  behind  the  rock,  leaving  her  Romeo  to 
resume  his  place,  exclaiming  complacently,  — • 

"  That  was  not  bad,  I  fancy.  Shakespeare  forgive 
me  for  the  liberties  I  took  with  him !  I  have  n't 
acted  since  I  played  this  part  with  Fraulein  Hoffmann 
in  Munich  last  year.  She  had  no  more  idea  of  the 
part  than  that  cow  looking  over  the  wall  at  us,  but 
Sylvia  really  did  very  well." 

"  Too  well  for  one  of  her  age,  I  am  afraid.  Yet  it 
was  very  lovely,"  said  Moor,  looking  as  if  he  still  saw 
the  white  arms  outstretched,  and  heard  the  tender 
words. 

"  Sentiment  is  perilous  stuff ;  better  let  her  get  rid 
of  her  romance  in  mimic  love  scenes  than  in  real  ones, 
or  leave  it  fermenting  in  that  precocious  head  i  and 
heart  of  hers." 


AFLOAT.  87 

Yet  Warwick  had  enjoyed  it  most  of  all,  and  was 
the  first  to  rise  and  thank  her  when  she  came  de 
murely  back  to  her  seat,  with  no  sign  of  the  actress 
about,  her  but  a  deeper  color  in  the  usually  pale 
cheeks,  and  eyes  that  seemed  to  have  lost  their 
shadows  and  grown  young. 

She  took  their  praises  modestly,  rejoicing  inwardly 
over  the  new  sense  of  power  that  came  to  her  as  she 
saw  not  only  admiration  but  wonder  and  respect  in 
the  faces  of  those  she  most  desired  to  please.  Gen 
erally  she  cared  nothing  for  the  regard  of  men,  but 
these  two  were  different  from  any  she  had  known,  and 
she  felt  that  whatever  they  gave  her  was  worth  the 
having. 

They  sat  late,  for  sleep  had  been  banished  by  pleas 
ure,  and  they  lingered  talking  over  the  immortal  char 
acters  which  will  always  be  full  of  intense  interest  to 
those  who  love  to  study  human  nature  as  painted  by 
the  Master  who  seemed  to  have  found  the  key  to  all 
the  passions,  and  set  them  to  a  music  of  which  we 
never  tire. 

A  distant  clock  struck  eleven  ,  Max  suggested  bed, 
and  the  proposition  was  unanimously  accepted. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  hang  me  ? "  asked  Sylvia, 
as  she  laid  hold  of  her  hammock  and  looked  about 
her  with  nearly  as  much  interest  as  if  her  suspension 
was  to  be  of  the  perpendicular  order. 

"  You  are  not  to  be  swung  up  in  a  tree  to-night,  but 
laid  like  a  ghost,  and  requested  not  to  walk  till  morn 
ing.  There  is  an  unused  barn  close  by,  so  we  shall 


88  MOODS. 

have  a  roof  over  us  for  one  night  longer,"  answered 
Max,  playing  chamberlain  while  the  others  remained 
to  quench  the  fire  and  secure  the  larder. 

The  moon  lighted  Sylvia  to  bed,  and  when  shown 
her  half  the  barn  —  which,  as  she  was  a  Marine,  was 
very  properly  the  bay,  Max  explained  —  she  scouted 
the  idea  of  being  nervous  or  timid  in  such  rude  quar 
ters,  made  herself  a  cosey  nest,  and  bade  her  brother  a 
merry  good-night. 

More  weary  than  she  would  confess,  Sylvia  fell 
asleep  at  once,  despite  the  novelty  of  her  situation  and 
the  noises  that  fill  a  summer  night  with  fitful  rust 
lings  and  tones.  How  long  she  slept  she  did  not 
know,  but  woke  suddenly  and  sat  erect  with  that  cu 
rious  thrill  which  sometimes  startles  one  out  of  deep 
est  slumber,  and  is  often  the  forerunner  of  some  dread 
or  danger.  She  felt  this  hot  tingle  through  blood  and 
nerves,  and  stared  about  her,  thinking  of  fire.  But 
everything  was  dark  and  still,  and  after  waiting  a  few 
moments  she  decided  that  her  nest  had  been  too  warm, 
for  her  temples  throbbed  and  her  cheeks  were  feverish 
with  the  close  air  of  the  barn  half  filled  with  new- 
made  hay. 

Creeping  up  a  fragrant  slope,  she  spread  her  cloak 
again  and  lay  down  where  a  cool  breath  flowed 
through  wide  chinks  in  the  wall.  Sleep  was  slowly 
returning  when  the  rustle  of  footsteps  scared  it  quite 
away  and  set  her  heart  beating  fast,  for  they  came 
toward  the  new  couch  she  had  chosen.  Holding  her 
breath,  she  listened.  The  quiet  tread  drew  nearer  and 


AFLOAT.  89 

nearer  till  it  paused  within  a  yard  of  her,  then  some 
one  seemed  to  throw  himself  down,  sigh  heavily  a 
few  times,  and  grow  still  as  if  falling  asleep. 

"  It  is  Max,"  thought  Sylvia,  and  whispered  his 
name  ;  but  no  one  answered,  and  from  the  far  corner 
of  the  barn  she  heard  her  brother  muttering  in  his 
sleep.  Who  was  it,  then  ?  Max  had  said  there  were 
no  cattle  near.  She  was  sure  neither  of  her  comrades 
had  left  their  bivouac,  for  there  was  her  brother  talk 
ing  as  usual  in  his  dreams  ;  some  one  seemed  restless 
and  turned  often  with  decided  motion ;  that  was  War 
wick,  she  thought ;  while  the  quietest  sleeper  of  the 
three  betrayed  his  presence  by  laughing  once  with  the 
low-toned  merriment  she  recognized  as  Moor's.  These 
discoveries  left  her  a  prey  to  visions  of  grimy  strollers, 
maudlin  farm-servants,  and  infectious  emigrants  in 
dismal  array.  A  strong  desire  to  cry  out  possessed 
her  for  a  moment,  but  was  checked  ;  for  with  all  her 
sensitiveness  Sylvia  had  much  common  sense,  and 
that  spirit  which  hates  to  be  conquered  even  by  a 
natural  fear.  She  remembered  her  scornful  repudia 
tion  of  the  charge  of  timidity,  and  the  endless  jokes 
she  would  have  to  undergo  if  her  mysterious  neighbor 
should  prove  some  harmless  wanderer  or  an  imaginary 
terror  of  her  own,  so  she  held  her  peace,  thinking 
valiantly  as  the  drops  gathered  on  her  forehead, 
and  every  sense  grew  painfully  alert,  — 

"  I  '11  not  call  if  my  hair  turns  gray  with  fright,  and 
I  find  myself  an  idiot  to-morrow.  I  told  them  to  try 
me,  and  I  won't  be  found  wanting  at  the  first  alarm. 


90  MOODS. 

I  '11  be  still,  if  the  thing  does  not  touch  me,  till  dawn, 
when  I  shall  know  how  to  act  at  once,  and  so  save 
myself  from  ridicule  at  the  cost  of  a  wakeful  night." 

Holding  fast  to  this  resolve,  Sylvia  lay  motionless, 
listening  to  the  cricket's  chirp  without,  and  taking 
uncomfortable  notes  of  the  state  of  things  within,  for 
the  new-comer  stirred  heavily,  sighed  long  and  deeply, 
and  seemed  to  wake  often,  like  one  too  sad  or  weary 
to  rest.  It  would  have  been  wiser  to  scream  her 
scream  and  have  the  rout  over,  for  she  tormented 
herself  with  the  ingenuity  of*  a  lively  fancy,  and 
suffered  more  from  her  own  terrors  than  at  the  dis 
covery  of  a  dozen  vampires.  Every  tale  of  diablerie 
she  had  ever  heard  came  most  inopportunely  to  haunt 
her  now,  and  though  she  felt  their  folly,  she  could  not 
free  herself  from  their  dominion.  She  wondered  till 
she  could  wonder  no  longer  what  the  morning  would 
show  her.  She  tried  to  calculate  in  how  many  springs 
she  could  reach  and  fly  over  the  low  partition  which 
separated  her  from  her  sleeping  body-guard.  She 
wished  with  all  her  heart  that  she  had  stayed  in  her 
nest  which  was  nearer  the  door,  and  watched  for  dawn 
with  eyes  that  ached  to  see  the  light. 

In  the  midst  of  these  distressful  sensations  the  far- 
off  crow  of  some  vigilant  chanticleer  assured  her  that 
the  short  summer  night  was  wearing  away  and  relief 
was  at  hand.  This  comfortable  conviction  had  so 
good  an  effect  that  she  lapsed  into  what  seemed  a 
moment's  oblivion,  but  was  in  fact  an  hour's  restless 
sleep,  for  when  her  eyes  unclosed  again  the  first  red 


AFLOAT.  91 

streaks  were  visible  in  the  east,  and  a  dim  light  found 
its  way  into  the  barn  through  the  great  door  which 
had  been  left  ajar  for  air.  An  instant  Sylvia  lay  col 
lecting  herself,  then  rose  on  her  arm,  looked  resolutely 
behind  her,  stared  with  round  eyes  a  moment,  and 
dropped  down  again,  laughing  with  a  merriment 
which,  coming  on  the  heels  of  her  long  alarm,  was 
rather  hysterical.  All  she  saw  was  a  little  soft-eyed 
Alderney  calf,  which  lifted  its  stag-like  head,  and 
regarded  her  with  a  confiding  aspect  that  won  her 
pardon  for  its  innocent  offence. 

Through  the  relief  of  both  mind  and  body  which 
she  experienced  in  no  small  degree,  the  first  thought 
that  came  was  a  thankful  "  What  a  mercy  I  did  n't  call 
Max,  for  I  should  never  have  heard  the  last  of  this  ! " 
And,  having  fought  her  fears  alone,  she  enjoyed  her 
success  alone,  and,  girl-like,  resolved  to  say  nothing 
of  her  first  night's  adventures.  Gathering  herself  up, 
she  crept  nearer,  and  caressed  her  late  terror,  which 
stretched  its  neck  toward  her  with  a  comfortable 
sound,  and  munched  her  shawl  like  a  cosset  lamb. 
But  before  this  new  friendship  was  many  minutes  old, 
Sylvia's  heavy  lids  fell  together,  her  head  dropped 
lower  and  lower,  her  hand  lay  still  on  the  dappled 
neck,  and  with  a  long  sigh  of  weariness  she  dropped 
back  upon  the  hay,  leaving  little  Alderney  to  watch 
over  her  much  more  tranquilly  than  she  had  watched 
over  it. 


92  MOODS. 

CHAPTEE  VI. 

THROUGH  FLOOD   AND   FIELD  AND   FIRE. 

"Y7~EKY  early  were  they  afloat  again,  and  as  they 
»  glided  up  the  stream  Sylvia  watched  the  earth's 
awakening,  seeing  in  it  what  her  own  should  be. 
The  sun  was  not  yet  visible  above  the  hills,  but  the 
sky  was  ready  for  his  coming,  with  the  soft  flush  of 
color  dawn  gives  only  to  her  royal  lover.  Birds  were 
chanting  matins  as  if  all  the  jubilance  of  their  short 
lives  must  be  poured  out  at  once.  Flowers  stirred 
and  brightened  like  children  after  sleep.  A  balmy 
wind  came  whispering  from  the  wood,  bringing  the 
aroma  of  pines,  the  cool  breath  of  damp  nooks,  the 
healthful  kiss  that  leaves  a  glow  behind.  Light  mists 
floated  down  the  river  like  departing  visions  that  had 
haunted  it  by  night,  and  every  ripple  breaking  on  the 
shore  seemed  to  sing  a  musical  good-morrow. 

Sylvia  could  not  conceal  the  weariness  her  long 
vigil  left  behind ;  and  after  betraying  herself  by  a 
drowsy  lurch  that  nearly  took  her  overboard,  she 
made  herself  comfortable,  and  slept  till  the  grating  of 
the  keel  on  a  pebbly  shore  woke  her  to  find  a  new 
harbor  reached  under  the  lee  of  a  cliff,  whose  deep 
shadow  was  very  grateful  after  the  glare  of  noon  upon 
the  water. 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.     93 

"How  do  you  intend  to  dispose  of  yourself  this 
afternoon,  Adam  ? "  asked  Max,  when  dinner  was  over 
and  his  sister  busy  feeding  the  birds. 

"In  this  way,"  answered  Warwick,  producing  a 
book  and  settling  himself  in  a  commodious  cranny  of 
the  rock. 

"  Moor  and  I  want  to  climb  the  cliff  and  sketch  the 
view ;  but  it  is  too  rough  a  road  for  Sylvia.  Would 
you  mind  mounting  guard  for  an  hour  or  two  ?  Read 
away,  and  leave  her  to  amuse  herself;  only  don't 
let  her  get  into  mischief  by  way  of  enjoying  her 
liberty,  for  she  fears  nothing  and  is  fond  of  experi 
ments." 

"  I  '11  do  my  best,"  replied  Warwick,  with  an  air  of 
resignation. 

Having  slung  the  hammock  and  seen  Sylvia  safely 
into  it,  the  climbers  departed,  leaving  her  to  enjoy 
the  luxury  of  motion.  For  half  an  hour  she  swung 
idly,  looking  up  into  the  green  pavilion  overhead, 
where  many  insect  families  were  busy  with  their 
small  joys  and  cares,  or  out  over  the  still  landscape 
basking  in  the  warmth  of  a  cloudless  afternoon. 
Then  she  opened  a  book  Max  had  brought  for  his  own 
amusement,  and  began  to  read  as  intently  as  her  com 
panion,  who  leaned  against  the  bowlder  slowly  turning 
his  pages,  with  leafy  shadows  nickering  over  his  un 
covered  head  and  touching  it  with  alternate  sun  and 
shade.  The  book  proved  interesting,  and  Sylvia  was 
rapidly  skimming  into  the  heart  of  the  story,  when 
an  unguarded  motion  caused  her  swing  to  slope  peril- 


94  MOODS. 

ously  to  one  side,  and  in  saving  herself  she  lost  her 
book.  This  produced  a  predicament,  for  being  helped 
into  a  hammock  and  getting  out  alone  are  two  very 
different  things.  She  eyed  the  distance  from  her 
nest  to  the  ground,  and  fancied  it  had  been  made 
unusually  great  to  keep  her  stationary.  She  held  fast 
with  one  hand  and  stretched  downward  with  the  other, 
but  the  book  insolently  flirted  its  leaves  just  out  of 
reach.  She  took  a  survey  of  Warwick ;  he  had  not 
perceived  her  plight,  and  she  felt  an  unwonted  reluc 
tance  to  call  for  help,  because  he  did  not  look  like 
one  used  to  come  and  go  at  a  woman's  bidding.  After 
several  fruitless  essays  she  decided  to  hazard  an  un 
graceful  descent ;  and,  gathering  herself  up,' was  about 
to  launch  boldly  out,  when  Warwick  cried,  "  Stop  ! " 
in  a  tone  that  nearly  produced  the  catastrophe  he 
wished  to  avert.  Sylvia  subsided,  and  coming  up  he 
lifted  the  book,  glanced  at  the  title,  then  keenly  at 
the  reader. 

"Do  you  like  this?" 

"  So  far  very  much." 

"  Are  you  allowed  to  read  what  you  choose  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir.  That  is  Max's  choice,  however ;  I  brought 
no  book." 

"  I  advise  you  to  skim  it  into  the  river  ;  it  is  not  a 
book  for  you." 

Sylvia  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  one  he  had  been 
reading  himself,  and,  impelled  by  a  sudden  impulse 
to  see  what  would  come  of  it,  she  answered  with  a 
look  as  keen  as  his  own,  — 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.     95 

"You  disapprove  of  my  book;  would  you  recom 
mend  yours  ? " 

"  In  this  case  yes ;  for  in  one  you  will  find  much 
falsehood  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  in  the  other  some 
truth  in  fig-leaves.  Take  your  choice." 

He  offered  both  ;  but  Sylvia  took  refuge  in  civility. 

"Thank  you,  I'll  have  neither;  but  if  you  will 
please  steady  the  hammock,  I  will  try  to  find  some 
more  harmless  amusement  for  myself." 

He  obeyed  with  one  of  the  humorous  expressions 
which  often  passed  over  his  face.  Sylvia  descended 
as  gracefully  as  circumstances  permitted,  and  went 
roving  up  and  down  the  cliffs.  Warwick  resumed 
his  seat  and  the  "  barbaric  yawp,"  but  seemed  to  find 
Truth  in  demi-toilet  less  interesting  than  Youth  in  a 
gray  gown  and  round  hat,  for  which  his  taste  is  to  be 
commended.  The  girl  had  small  scope  for  amuse 
ment,  and  when  she  had  gathered  moss  for  pillows, 
laid  out  a  white  fungus  to  dry  for  a  future  pin-cush 
ion,  harvested  pennyroyal  in  little  sheaves  tied  with 
grass-blades,  watched  a  battle  between  black  ants  and 
red,  and  learned  the  landscape  by  heart,  she  was  at 
the  end  of  her  resources,  and  leaning  on  a  stone  sur 
veyed  earth  and  sky  with  a  somewhat  despondent 
air. 

"  You  would  like  something  to  do,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  for,  being  rather  new  to  this  sort  of  life, 
I  have  not  yet  learned  how  to  dispose  of  my  time." 

"  I  see  that,  and,  having  deprived  you  of  one  em 
ployment,  will  try  to  replace  it  by  another." 


96  MOODS. 

Warwick  rose,  and,  going  to  the  single  birch  that 
glimmered  among  the  pines  like  a  delicate  spirit  of 
the  wood,  he  presently  returned  with  strips  of  silvery 
bark. 

"  You  were  wishing  for  baskets  to  hold  your  spoils, 
yesterday ;  shall  we  make  some  now  ? "  he  asked. 

"  How  stupid  in  me  not  to  think  of  that !  Yes, 
thank  you,  I  should  like  it  very  much."  And,  pro 
ducing  her  house- wife,  Sylvia  fell  to  work  with  a 
brightening  face. 

Warwick  sat  a  little  below  her  on  the  rock,  shaping 
his  basket  in  perfect  silence.  This  did  not  suit  Syl 
via  ;  for,  feeling  lively  and  loquacious,  she  wanted  con 
versation  to  occupy  her  thoughts  as  pleasantly  as  the 
birch  rolls  were  occupying  her  hands,  and  there  sat  a 
person  who  could  do  it  perfectly  if  he  chose.  She 
reconnoitred  with  covert  glances,  made  sundry  over 
tures,  and  sent  out  envoys  in  the  shape  of  scissors, 
needles,  and  thread.  But  no  answering  glance  met 
hers ;  her  remarks  received  the  briefest  replies,  and 
her  offers  of  assistance  were  declined  with  an  absent 
"  No,  thank  you."  Then  she  grew  indignant  at  this 
seeming  neglect,  and  thought,  as  she  sat  frowning 
over  her  work,  behind  his  back,  — 

"  He  treats  me  like  a  child,  —  very  well  then,  I  '11 
behave  like  one,  and  beset  him  with  questions  till  he 
is  driven  to  speak ;  for  he  can  talk,  he  ought  to  talk, 
he  shall  talk." 

"  Mr.  Warwick,  do  you  like  children  ? "  she  began, 
with  a  determined  aspect. 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.      97 

"  Better  than  men  or  women." 

"  Do  you  enjoy  amusing  them  ? " 

"  Exceedingly,  when  in  the  humor." 

"  Are  you  in  the  humor  now  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  amuse  me  ? " 

"  Because  you  are  not  a  child." 

"  I  fancied  you  thought  me  one." 

"  If  I.  had,  I  probably  should  have  put  you  on  my 
knee,  and  told  you  fairy  tales,  or  cut  dolls  for  you  out 
of  this  bark,  instead  of  sitting  respectfully  silent  and 
making  a  basket  for  your  stores." 

There  was  a  curious  smile  about  Warwick's  mouth 
as  he  spoke,  and  Sylvia  was  rather  abashed  by  her 
first  exploit.  But  there  was  a  pleasure  in  the  daring, 
and  choosing  another  topic  she  tried  again. 

"  Max  was  telling  me  last  night  about  the  great 
college  you  had  chosen ;  I  thought  it  must  be  a  very 
original  and  interesting  way  to  educate  one's  self,  and 
wanted  very  much  to  know  what  you  had  been  study 
ing  lately.  May  I  ask  you  now  ?  " 

"  Men  and  women,"  was  the  brief  answer. 

"  Have  you  got  your  lesson,  sir  ? " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  May  I  ask  which  part  you  are  studying  now  ? " 

"  The  latter." 

"  Do  you  find  it  interesting  ? " 

"  Very." 

Sylvia  paused  to  wonder  what  sort  of  woman  he 
would  care  to  study,  and  sat  silent  till  she  had  com- 

7 


98  MOODS. 

pleted  a  canoe-shaped  basket,  the  useful  size  of  which 
produced  a  sudden  desire  to  fill  it.  Her  eye  had 
already  spied  a  knoll  across  the  river  covered  with 
vines,  and  so  suggestive  of  berries  that  she  now  found 
it  impossible  to  resist  the  desire  for  an  exploring  trip 
in  that  direction.  The  boat  was  too  large  for  her  to 
manage  alone,  but  an  enterprising  spirit  had  taken 
possession  of  her,  and,  having  made  one  voyage  of  dis 
covery  with  small  success,  she  resolved  to  try  again, 
hoping  a  second  in  another  direction  might  prove 
more  fruitful. 

"  Is  your  basket  done  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Yes ;  will  you  have  it  ? " 

"  Why,  you  have  made  it  as  an  Indian  would,  using 
grass  instead  of  thread.  It  is  much  more  complete 
than  mine,  for  the  green  stitches  ornament  the  white 
bark,  but  the  black  ones  disfigure  it.  I  should  know 
a  man  made  your  basket  and  a  woman  mine." 

"  Because  one  is  ugly  and  strong,  the  other  graceful 
but  unable  to  stand  alone  ? "  asked  Warwick,  rising, 
with  a  gesture  that  sent  the  silvery  shreds  flying  away 
on  the  wind. 

"  One  holds  as  much  as  the  other,  however ;  and  I 
fancy  the  woman  would  fill  hers  soonest  if  she  had  the 
wherewithal  to  do  it.  Do  you  know  there  are  berries 
on  that  hillside  opposite  ? " 

"  I  see  vines,  but  consider  fruit  doubtful,  for  boys 
and  birds  are  thicker  than  blackberries." 

"  I  've  a  firm  conviction  that  they  have  left  some 
for  us ;  and  as  Max  says  you  like  frankness,  I  think  I 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.      99 

shall  venture  to  ask  you  to  row  me  over  and  help  me 
fill  the  baskets  on  the  other  side." 

Sylvia  looked  up  at  him  with  a  merry  mixture  of 
doubt  and  daring  in  her  face,  and  offered  him  his  hat. 

"  Very  good,  I  will,"  said  Warwick,  leading  the  way 
to  the  boat  with  an  alacrity  which  proved  how  much 
pleasanter  to  him  was  action  than  repose. 

There  was  no  dry  landing-place  just  opposite,  and 
as  he  rowed  higher,  Adam  fixed  his  eyes  on  Sylvia 
with  a  look  peculiar  to  himself,  a  gaze  more  keen  than 
soft,  which  seemed  to  search  one  through  and  through 
with  its  rapid  discernment.  He  was  studying  her, 
and  finding  his  book  grow  more  and  more  interesting 
every  hour;  for  Sylvia,  un vexed  by  home  restraints 
and  happy  in  congenial  society,  was  now  her  best  and 
sweetest  self. 

She  could  not  be  offended  by  the  grave  penetration 
of  this  glance,  though  an  uncomfortable  consciousness 
that  she  was  being  analyzed  and  tested  made  her 
meet  it  with  a  look  intended  to  be  dignified,  but 
which  was  also  somewhat  defiant,  and  more  than 
one  smile  passed  over  Warwick's  countenance  as  he 
watched  her.  The  moment  the  boat  glided  with  a 
soft  swish  among  the  rushes  that  fringed  the  shore,  she 
sprung  up  the  bank,  and,  leaving  a  basket  behind  her 
by  way  of  hint,  hurried  to  the  sandy  knoll,  where,  to 
her  great  satisfaction,  she  found  the  vines  heavy  with 
berries.  As  Warwick  joined  her  she  held  up  a  shin 
ing  cluster,  saying  with  a  touch  of  exultation  in  her 
voice,  — 


100  MOODS. 

"  My  faith  is  rewarded ;  taste  and  believe." 
He  accepted  them  with  a  nod,  and  said  pleasantly,  — 
"  As  my  prophecy  has  failed,  let  us  see  if  yours  will 
be  fulfilled." 

"I  accept  the  challenge."  And  down  upon  her 
knees  went  Sylvia  among  the  vines,  regardless  of 
stains,  rents,  or  wounded  hands. 

Warwick  strolled  away  to  leave  her  "  claim  "  free, 
and  silence  fell  between  them ;  for  one  was  too  busy 
with  thorns,  the  other  with  thoughts,  to  break  the 
summer  stillness.  Sylvia  worked  with  as  much  en 
ergy  as  if  a  silver  cup  was  to  be  the  reward  of  success. 
The  sun  shone  fervently  and  the  wind  was  cut  off  by 
the  hill,  drops  gathered  on  her  forehead,  and  her 
cheeks  glowed;  but  she  only  pushed  off  her  hat, 
thrust  back  her  hair,  and  moved  on  to  a  richer  spot. 
Vines  caught  at  her  by  sleeve  and  skirt  as  if  to  dis 
hearten  the  determined  plunderer,  but  on  she  went 
with  a  wrench  and  a  rip,  an  impatient  "  Ah ! "  and  a 
hasty  glance  at  damaged  fabrics  and  fingers.  Lively 
crickets  flew  up  in  swarms  about  her,  surly  wasps  dis 
puted  her  right  to  the  fruit,  and  drunken  bees  blun 
dered  against  her  as  they  met,  zigzagging  homeward 
much  the  worse  for  blackberry  wine.  She  never 
heeded  any  of  them,  though  at  another  time  she  would 
gladly  have  made  friends  with  all,  but  found  compen 
sation  for  her  discomforts  in  the  busy  twitter  of  sand- 
swallows  perched  on  the  mullein-tops,  the  soft  flight 
of  yellow  butterflies,  and  the  rapidity  with  which  the 
little  canoe  received  its  freight  of  "Ethiop  sweets." 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.     101 

As  the  last  handful  went  in  she  sprung  up,  crying 
"Done  !"  with  a  suddenness  that  broke  up  the  Long 
Parliament  and  sent  its  members  skimming  away 
as  if  a  second  "Noll"  had  appeared  among  them. 
"  Done  ! "  came  back  Warwick's  answer  like  a  deep 
echo  from  below,  and  hurrying  down  to  meet  him  she 
displayed  her  success,  saying  archly,  — 

"  I  am  glad  we  both  won,  though  to  be  perfectly 
candid  I  think  mine  is  decidedly  the  fullest."  But 
as  she  swung  up  her  birch  pannier  the  handle  broke, 
and  down  went  basket,  berries  and  all,  into  the  long 
grass  rustling  at  her  feet. 

Warwick  could  not  restrain  a  laugh  at  the  blank 
dismay  that  fell  upon  the  exultation  of  Sylvia's  face, 
and  for  a  moment  she  was  both  piqued  and  petulant. 
Hot,  tired,  disappointed,  and,  hardest  of  all,  laughed 
at,  it  was  one  of  those  times  that  try  girls'  souls.  But 
she  was  too  old  to  cry,  too  proud  to  complain,  too 
well-bred  to  resent,  so  the  little  gust  passed  over  un 
seen,  she  thought,  and  joining  in  the  merriment  she 
said,  as  she  knelt  down  beside  the  wreck,  — 

"  This  is  a  practical  illustration  of  the  old  proverb, 
and  I  deserve  it  for  my  boasting.  Next  time  I  '11  try 
to  combine  strength  and  beauty  in  my  work." 

To  wise  people  character  is  betrayed  by  trifles. 
Warwick  stopped  laughing,  and  something  about  the 
girlish  figure  in  the  grass,  regathering  with  wounded 
hands  the  little  harvest  lately  lost,  seemed  to  touch 
him.  His  face  softened  suddenly  as  he  collected 
several  broad  leaves,  spread  them  on  the  grass,  and, 


102  MOODS. 

sitting  down  by  Sylvia,  looked  under  her  hat-brim 
with  a  glance  of  mingled  penitence  and  friendliness. 

"  Now,  young  philosopher,  pile  up  your  berries  in 
that  green  platter  while  I  repair  the  basket.  Bear 
this  in  mind  when  you  work  in  bark :  make  your 
handle  the  way  of  the  grain,  and  choose  a  strip  both 
smooth  and  broad." 

Then  drawing  out  his  knife  he  fell  to  work,  and 
while  he  tied  green  withes,  as  if  the  task  were  father 
to  the  thought,  he  told  her  something  of  a  sojourn 
among  the  Indians,  of  whom  he  had  learned  much 
concerning  their  woodcraft,  arts,  and  superstitions ; 
lengthening  the  legend  till  the  little  canoe  was  ready 
for  another  launch.  With  her  fancy  full  of  war-trails 
and  wampum,  Sylvia  followed  to  the  river-side,  and 
as  they  floated  back  dabbled  her  stained  ringers  in  the 
water,  comforting  their  smart  with  its  cool  flow  till 
they  swept  by  the  landing-place,  when  she  asked 
wonderingly,  — 

"  Where  are  we  going  now  ?  Have  I  been  so 
troublesome  that  I  must  be  taken  home  ?  " 

"  We  are  going  to  get  a  third  course  to  follow  the 
berries,  unless  you  are  afraid  to  trust  yourself  to  me." 

"  Indeed,  I  'm  not ;  take  me  where  you  like,  sir." 

Something  in  her  frank  tone,  her  confiding  glance, 
seemed  to  please  Warwick ;  he  sat  a  moment  looking 
into  the  brown  depths  of  the  water,  and  let  the  boat 
drift,  with  no  sound  but  the  musical  drip  of  drops 
from  the  oars. 

"  We  are  going  upon  a  rock." 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.     103 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it."  And  a  swift  stroke  averted 
the  shock,  to  send  them  flying  down  the  river  till 
they  reached  the  shore  of  a  floating  lily  island.  Here 
Warwick  shipped  his  oars,  saying,  — 

"  You  were  asleep  when  we  passed  this  morning  ; 
but  I  know  you  like  lilies,  so  let  us  go  a  fishing." 

"  That  I  do  ! "  cried  Sylvia,  capturing  a  great  white 
flower  with  a  clutch  that  nearly  took  her  overboard. 
Warwick  drew  her  back  and  did  the  gathering  him 
self. 

"  Enough,  quite  enough !  Here  are  plenty  to 
trim  our  table  and  ourselves  with ;  leave  the  rest  for 
other  voyagers  who  may  come  this  way." 

As  Warwick  offered  her  the  dripping  nosegay  he 
looked  at  the  white  hand  scored  with  scarlet  lines. 

"  Poor  hand  !  let  the  lilies  comfort  it.  You  are  a 
true  woman,  Miss  Sylvia,  for  though  your  palm  is 
purple  there's  not  a  stain  upon  your  lips,  and  you 
have  neither  worked  nor  suffered  for  yourself,  it 
seems." 

"  I  don't  deserve  that  compliment,  because  I  was 
only  intent  on  outdoing  you  if  possible ;  so  you  are 
mistaken  again,  you  see." 

"  Not.  entirely,  I  think.  Some  faces  are  so  true  an 
index  of  character  that  one  cannot  be  mistaken.  If 
you  doubt  this,  look  down  into  the  river,  and  such  an 
one  will  inevitably  smile  back  at  you." 

Pleased,  yet  somewhat  abashed,  Sylvia  busied  her 
self  in  knotting  up  the  long  brown  stems  and  tingeing 
her  nose  with  yellow  pollen  as  she  inhaled  the  bitter- 


104  MOODS. 

sweet  breath  of  the  lilies.  But  when  Warwick  turned 
to  resume  the  oars,  she  said,  — 

"  Let  us  float  out  as  we  floated  in.  It  is  so  still 
and  lovely  here  I  like  to  stay  and  enjoy  it,  for  we 
may  never  see  just  such  a  scene  again." 

He  obeyed,  and  both  sat  silent,  watching  the  mead 
ows  that  lay  green  and  low  along  the  shore,  feeding 
their  eyes  with  the  beauty  of  the  landscape,  till  its 
peaceful  spirit  seemed  to  pass  into  their  own,  and 
lend  a  subtle  charm  to  that  hour,  which  henceforth 
was  to  stand  apart,  serene  and  happy,  in  their  mem 
ories  forever.  A  still  August  day,  with  a  shimmer 
in  the  air  that  veiled  the  distant  hills  with  the  mellow 
haze  no  artist  ever  truly  caught.  Midsummer  warmth 
and  ripeness  brooded  in  the  verdure  of  field  and  for 
est.  Wafts  of  fragrance  went  wandering  by  from 
new-mown  meadows  and  gardens  full  of  bloom.  All 
the  sky  wore  its  serenest  blue,  and  up  the  river  came 
frolic  winds,  ruffling  the  lily  leaves  until  they  showed 
their  purple  linings,  sweeping  shadowy  ripples  through 
the  long  grass,  and  lifting  the  locks  from  Sylvia's 
forehead  with  a  grateful  touch,  as  she  sat  softly  sway 
ing  with  the  swaying  of  the  boat.  Slowly  they  drifted 
out  into  the  current,  slowly  Warwick  cleft  the  water 
with  reluctant  stroke,  and  slowly  Sylvia's  mind  woke 
from  its  trance  of  dreamy  delight,  as  with  a  gesture 
of  assent  she  said,  — 

"Yes,  I  am  ready  now.  That  was  a  happy  little 
moment,  and  I  am  glad  to  have  lived  it,  for  such 
times  return  to  refresh  me  when  many  a  more  stirring 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.     105 

one  is  quite  forgotten."  A  moment  after  she  added, 
eagerly,  as  a  new  object  of  interest  appeared :  "  Mr. 
Warwick,  I  see  smoke.  I  know  there  is  a  wood  on 
fire  ;  I  want  to  see  it ;  please  land  again." 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the  black  cloud 
trailing  away  before  the  wind,  saw  Sylvia's  desire  in 
her  face,  and  silently  complied ;  for  being  a  keen  stu 
dent  of  character,  he  was  willing  to  prolong  an  inter 
view  that  gave  him  glimpses  of  a  nature  in  which  the 
woman  and  the  child  were  curiously  blended. 

"  I  love  fire,  and  that  must  be  a  grand  one,  if  we 
could  only  see  it  well.  This  bank  is  not  high  enough ; 
let  us  go  nearer  and  enjoy  it,"  said  Sylvia,  finding  that 
an  orchard  and  a  knoll  or  two  intercepted  the  view  of 
the  burning  wood. 

"It  is  too  far." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  am  no  helpless,  fine  lady.  I  can 
walk,  run,  and  climb  like  any  boy ;  so  you  need  have 
no  fears  for  me.  I  may  never  see  such  a  sight  again, 
and  you  know  you  'd  go  if  you  were  alone.  Please 
come,  Mr.  Warwick." 

"  I  promised  Max  to  take  care  of  you,  and  for  the 
very  reason  that  you  love  fire,  I  'd  rather  not  take  you 
into  that  furnace,  lest  you  never  come  out  again.  Let 
us  go  back  immediately." 

The  decision  of  his  tone  ruffled  Sylvia,  and  she 
turned  wilful  at  once,  saying  in  a  tone  as  decided  as 
his  owrn, — 

"  No ;  I  wish  to  see  it.  I  am  always  allowed  to  do 
what  I  wish,  so  I  shall  go ; "  with  which  mutinous 


106  MOODS. 

remark  she  walked  straight  away  towards  the  burn 
ing  wood. 

Warwick  looked  after  her,  indulging  a  momentary 
desire  to  carry  her  back  to  the  boat,  like  a  naughty 
child.  But  the  resolute  aspect  of  the  figure  going  on 
before  him  convinced  him  that  the  attempt  would  be 
a  failure,  and  with  an  amused  expression  he  leisurely 
followed  her. 

Sylvia  had  not  walked  five  minutes  before  she  was 
satisfied  that  it  was  too  far ;  but,  having  rebelled,  she 
would  not  own  herself  in  the  wrong,  and,  being  per 
verse,  insisted  upon  carrying  her  point,  though  she 
walked  all  night.  On  she  went  over  walls,  under  rails, 
across  brooks,  along  the  furrows  of  more  than  one 
ploughed  field  and  in  among  the  rustling  corn,  that 
turned  its  broad  leaves  to  the  sun,  always  in  advance 
of  her  companion,  who  followed  with  exemplary  sub 
mission,  but  also  with  a  satirical  smile,  that  spurred 
her  on  as  no  other  demonstration  could  have  done. 
Six  o'clock  sounded  from  the  church  behind  the  hill ; 
still  the  wood  seemed  to  recede  as  she  pursued,  still 
close  behind  her  came  the  steady  footfalls,  with  no 
sound  of  weariness  in  them,  and  still  Sylvia  kept  on, 
till,  breathless,  but  successful,  she  reached  the  object 
of  her  search. 

Keeping  to  the  windward  of  the  smoke,  she  gained 
a  rocky  spot  still  warm  and  blackened  by  the  late 
passage  of  the  flames,  and,  pausing  there,  forgot  her 
own  pranks  in  watching  those  which  the  fire  played 
before  her  eyes.  Many  acres  were  burning,  the  air 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.    107 

was  full  of  the  rush  and  roar  of  the  victorious  element, 
the  crash  of  trees  that  fell  before  it,  and  the  shouts  of 
men  who  fought  it  unavailingly. 

"  Ah,  this  is  grand !  I  wish  Max  and  Mr.  Moor 
were  here.  Are  n't  you  glad  you  came  ? " 

Sylvia  glanced  up  at  her  companion,  as  he  stood 
regarding  the  scene  with  the  intent,  alert  expression 
one  often  sees  in  a  hound  when  he  scents  danger  in 
the  air.  But  Warwick  did  not  answer,  for  as  she 
spoke  a  long,  sharp  cry  of  human  suffering  rose  above 
the  tumult,  terribly  distinct  and  full  of  ominous 
suggestion. 

"  Some  one  was  killed  when  that  tree  fell !  Stay 
here  till  I  come  back. "  And  Adam  strode  away  into 
the  wood  as  if  his  place  were  where  the  peril  lay. 

For  ten  minutes  Sylvia  waited,  pale  and  anxious ; 
then  her  patience  gave  out,  and,  saying  to  herself,  "  I 
can  go  where  he  does,  and  women  are  always  more 
helpful  than  men  at  such  times,"  she  followed  in  the 
direction  whence  came  the  fitful  sound  of  voices. 
The  ground  was  hot  underneath  her  feet,  red  eyes 
winked  at  her  from  the  blackened  sod,  and  fiery 
tongues  darted  up  here  and  there,  as  if  the  flames 
were  lurking  still,  ready  for  another  outbreak.  In 
tent  upon  her  charitable  errand,  and  excited  by  the 
novel  scene,  she  pushed  recklessly  on,  leaping  charred 
logs,  skirting  still  burning  stumps,  and  peering  eagerly 
into  the  dun  veil  that  wavered  to  and  fro.  The  ap 
pearance  of  an  impassable  ditch  obliged  her  to  halt, 
and,  pausing  to  take  breath,  she  became  aware  that 


108  MOODS. 

she  had  lost  her  way.  The  echo  of  voices  had  ceased, 
a  red  glare  was  deepening  in  front,  and  clouds  of 
smoke  enveloped  her  in  a  stifling  atmosphere.  A 
sense  of  bewilderment  crept  over  her ;  she  knew  not 
where  she  was  ;  and  after  a  rapid  flight  in  what  she 
believed  a  safe  direction  had  been  cut  short  by  the 
fall  of  a  blazing  tree  before  her,  she  stood  still,  taking 
counsel  with  herself.  Darkness  and  danger  seemed 
to  encompass  her,  fire  flickered  on  every  side,  and  suf 
focating  vapors  shrouded  earth  and  sky.  A  bare  rock 
suggested  one  hope  of  safety,  and,  muffling  her  head 
in  her  skirt,  she  lay  down  faint  and  blind,  with  a  dull 
pain  in  her  temples,  and  a  fear  at  her  heart  fast 
deepening  into  terror  as  her  breath  grew  painful  and 
her  head  began  to  swim. 

"  This  is  the  last  of  the  pleasant  voyage  !  Oh,  why 
does  no  one  think  of  me  ? " 

As  the  regret  rose,  a  cry  of  suffering  and  entreaty 
broke  from  her.  She  had  not  called  for  help  till  now, 
thinking  herself  too  remote,  her  voice  too  feeble  to 
overpower  the  din  about  her.  But  some  one  had 
thought  of  her,  for  as  the  cry  left  her  lips,  steps  came 
crashing  through  the  wood,  a  pair  of  strong  arms 
caught  her  up,  and  before  she  could  collect  her 
scattered  senses  she  was  set  down  beyond  all  danger 
on  the  green  bank  of  a  little  pool. 

"  Well,  salamander,  have  you  had  fire  enough  ? " 
asked  Warwick,  as  he  dashed  a  handful  of  water  in 
her  face  with  such  energetic  good-will  that  it  took 
her  breath  away. 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.    109 

"  Yes,  oh  yes,  —  and  of  water,  too  !  Please  stop,  and 
let  me  get  my  breath !  "  gasped  Sylvia,  warding  off  a 
second  baptism  and  staring  dizzily  about  her. 

"  Why  did  you  quit  the  place  where  I  left  you  ?  " 
was  the  next  question,  somewhat  sternly  put. 

"  I  wanted  to  know  what  had  happened." 

"  So  you  walked  into  a  bonfire  to  satisfy  your  cu 
riosity,  though  you  had  been  told  to  keep  out  of  it  ? 
You  'd  never  make  a  Casabianca." 

"  I  hope  not,  for  of  all  silly  children  that  boy  was 
the  silliest,  and  he  deserved  to  be  blown  up  for  his 
want  of  common  sense,"  cried  the  girl  petulantly. 

"  Obedience  is  an  old-fashioned  virtue,  which  you 
would  do  well  to  cultivate  along  with  your  common 
sense,  young  lady." 

Sylvia  changed  the  subject,  for  Warwick  stood  re 
garding  her  with  an  irate  expression  that  was  some 
what  alarming.  Fanning  herself  with  the  wet  hat, 
she  asked  abruptly,  — 

"  Was  the  man  hurt,  sir  ? " 

«  Yes." 

"Very  much?" 

"  Yes." 

"Can  I  not  do  something  for  him?  He  is  very 
far  from  any  house,  and  I  have  some  experience  in 
wounds." 

"  He  is  past  all  help  now." 

"  Dead,  Mr.  Warwick  ? " 

"  Quite  dead." 

Sylvia  sat  down  as  suddenly  as  she  had  risen,  and 


110  MOODS. 

covered  her  face,  with  a  shiver,  remembering  that  her 
own  wilfulness  had  tempted  a  like  fate,  and  she  too 
might  now  have  been  "  past  help."  Warwick  went 
down  to  the  pool  to  bathe  his  hot  face  and  blackened 
hands ;  as  he  returned,  Sylvia  met  him  with  a  sub 
missive  - — 

"  I  will  go  back  now  if  you  are  ready,  sir." 

If  the  way  had  seemed  long  in  coming,  it  was 
doubly  so  in  returning,  for  neither  pride  nor  perver 
sity  sustained  her  now,  and  every  step  cost  an  effort. 
"  I  can  rest  in  the  boat,"  was  her  sustaining  thought ; 
great  therefore  was  her  dismay  when,  on  reaching  the 
river,  no  boat  was  to  be  seen. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Warwick,  where  is  it  ?  " 

"  A  long  way  down  the  river  by  this  time,  probably. 
Believing  that  we  landed  only  for  a  moment,  I  did 
not  fasten  it,  and  the  tide  has  carried  it  away." 

"  But  what  shall  we  do  ? " 

"  One  of  two  things,  —  spend  the  night  here,  or  go 
round  by  the  bridge." 

"  Is  it  far  ?  " 

"  Some  three  or  four  miles,  I  think." 

"  Is  there  no  shorter  way  ?  no  boat  or  carriage  to 
be  had  ? " 

"  If  you  care  to  wait,  I  can  look  for  our  runaway, 
or  get  a  wagon  from  the  town." 

"  It  is  growing  late,  and  you  would  be  gone  a  long 
time,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Probably." 

"  Which  had  we  better  do  ?  " 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.    Ill 

"  I  should  not  venture  to  advise.  Suit  yourself,  I 
will  obey  orders." 

"  If  you  were  alone,  what  would  you  do  ? " 

"  Swim  across." 

Sylvia  looked  disturbed,  Warwick  impenetrable, 
the  river  wide,  the  road  long,  and  the  cliffs  the  most 
inaccessible  of  places.  An  impressive  pause  ensued, 
then  she  said  frankly,  — 

"It  is  my  own  fault,  and  I '11  take  the  conse 
quences.  I  choose  the  bridge,  and  leave  you  the 
river.  If  I  don't  appear  till  dawn,  tell  Max  I  sent 
him  a  good  night."  And  girding  up  her  energies  she 
walked  bravely  off,  with  much  external  composure 
and  internal  chagrin. 

As  before,  Warwick  followed  in  silence.  For  a 
time  she  kept  in  advance,  then  allowed  him  to  gain 
upon  her,  and  presently  fell  behind,  plodding  dog 
gedly  on  through  thick  and  thin,  vainly  trying  to 
conceal  the  hunger  and  fatigue  that  were  fast  robbing 
her  of  both  strength  and  spirits.  Adam  watched  her 
with  a  masculine  sense  of  the  justice  of  the  retribu 
tion  which  his  wilful  comrade  had  brought  upon  her 
self.  But  as  he  saw  the  elasticity  leave  her  steps, 
the  color  fade  from  her  cheeks,  the  resolute  mouth 
relax,  and  the  wistful  eyes  dim  once  or  twice  with 
tears  of  weariness  and  vexation,  pity  got  the  better  of 
pique,  and  he  relented.  His  steady  tramp  came  to  a 
halt,  and,  stopping  by  a  wayside  spring,  he  pointed 
to  a  mossy  stone,  saying,  with  no  hint  of  superior 
powers,  — 


112  MOODS. 

"  We  are  tired,  let  us  rest." 

Sylvia  dropped  down  at  once,  and  for  a  few  minutes 
neither  spoke,  for  the  air  was  full  of  sounds  more  per 
tinent  to  the  summer  night  than  human  voices.  From 
the  copse  behind  them  came  the  coo  of  wood-pigeons, 
from  the  grass  at  their  feet  the  plaintive  chirp  of 
crickets ;  a  busy  breeze  whispered  through  the  wil 
low,  the  little  spring  dripped  musically  from  the  rock, 
and  across  the  meadows  came  the  sweet  chime  of  a 
bell.  Twilight  was  creeping  over  forest,  hill,  and 
stream,  and  seemed  to  drop  refreshment  and  repose 
upon  all  weariness  of  soul  and  body,  more  grateful  to 
Sylvia  than  the  welcome  seat  and  leafy  cup  of  water 
Warwick  brought  her  from  the  spring. 

The  appearance  of  a  thirsty  sparrow  gave  her 
thoughts  a  pleasant  turn,  for,  sitting  motionless,  she 
watched  the  little  creature  trip  down  to  the  pool, 
drink  and  bathe,  then,  flying  to  a  willow  spray,  dress 
its  feathers,  dry  its  wings,  and  sit  chirping  softly  as 
if  it  sang  its  evening  hymn.  Warwick  saw  her  in 
terest,  and  searching  in  his  pocket,  found  the  relics 
of  a  biscuit,  strewed  a  few  bits  upon  the  ground 
before  him,  and  began  a  low,  sweet  whistle,  which 
rose  gradually  to  a  varied  strain,  alluring,  spirited, 
and  clear  as  any  bird-voice  of  the  wood.  Little  spar 
row  ceased  his  twitter,  listened  with  outstretched 
neck  and  eager  eye,  hopping  restlessly  from  twig  to 
twig,  until  he  hung  just  over  the  musician's  head,  agi 
tated  with  a  small  flutter  of  surprise,  delight,  and  doubt. 
Gathering  a  crumb  or  two  into  his  hand,  Warwick  held 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.     113 

it  toward  the  bird,  while  softer,  sweeter,  and  more  ur 
gent  rose  the  invitation,  and  nearer  and  nearer  drew 
the  winged  guest,  fascinated  by  the  spell. 

Suddenly  a  belated  blackbird  lit  upon  the  wall, 
surveyed  the  group,  and  burst  into  a  jubilant  song, 
that  for  a  moment  drowned  his  rival's  notes.  Then, 
as  if  claiming  the  reward,  he  fluttered  to  the  grass, 
ate  his  fill,  took  a  sip  from  the  mossy  basin  by  the 
way,  and  flew  singing  over  the  river,  leaving  a  trail 
of  music  behind  him.  There  was  a  clash  and  daring 
about  this  which  fired  little  sparrow  with  emulation. 
His  last  fear  seemed  conquered,  and  he  flew  confid 
ingly  to  Warwick's  palm,  pecking  the  crumbs  with 
grateful  chirps  and  friendly  glances  from  its  quick, 
bright  eye.  It  was  a  pretty  picture  for  the  girl  to 
see ;  the  man  an  image  of  power,  in  his  hand  the 
feathered  atom,  that,  with  unerring  instinct,  divined 
and  trusted  the  superior  nature  which  had  not  yet 
lost  its  passport  to  the  world  of  innocent  delights 
that  Nature  gives  to  those  who  love  her  best.  Invol 
untarily  Sylvia  clapped  her  hands,  and,  startled  by 
the  sudden  sound,  little  sparrow  skimmed  away. 

"  Thank*  you  for  the  pleasantest  sight  I  've  seen 
for  many  a  day.  How  did  you  learn  this  gentle  art, 
Mr.  Warwick  ? " 

"  I  was  a  solitary  boy,  and  found  my  only  play 
mates  in  the  woods  and  fields.  I  learned  their  worth, 
they  saw  my  need,  and  when  I  asked  their  friend 
ship,  gave  it  freely.  Now  we  should  go  ;  you  are 
very  tired,  let  me  help  you." 


114  MOODS. 

He  held  his  hand  to  her,  and  she  put  her  own  into 
it  with  a  confidence  as  instinctive  as  the  bird's. 
Then,  hand  in  hand,  they  crossed  the  bridge  and 
struck  into  the  wilderness  again ;  climbing  slopes  still 
warm  and  odorous,  passing  through  dells  full  of  chilly 
damps,  along  meadows  spangled  with  fireflies  and 
haunted  by  sonorous  frogs,  over  rocks  crisp  with  pale 
mosses,  and  between  dark  firs,  where  shadows  brooded 
and  melancholy  breezes  rocked  themselves  to  sleep ; 
speaking  seldom,  yet  feeling  no  consciousness  of  si 
lence,  no  sense  of  restraint,  for  they  no  longer  seemed 
like  strangers  to  each  other,  and  this  spontaneous 
friendliness  lent  an  indefinable  charm  to  the  dusky 
walk.  Warwick  found  satisfaction  in  the  knowledge 
of  her  innocent  faith  in  him,  the  touch  of  the  little 
hand  he  held,  the  sight  of  the  quiet  figure  at  his  side. 
Sylvia  felt  that  it  was  pleasant  to  be  the  object  of  his 
care,  fancied  that  they  would  learn  to  know  each 
other  better  in  three  days  of  this  free  life  than  in  as 
many  months  at  home,  and  rejoiced  over  the  dis 
covery  of  unsuspected  traits  in  him,  like  the  soft 
lining  of  the  chestnut  burr,  to  which  she  had  com 
pared  him  more  than  once  that  afternoon.  So,  mutu 
ally  and  unconsciously  yielding  to  the  influence  of 
the  hour  and  the  mood  it  brought  them,  they  walked 
through  the  twilight  in  that  eloquent  silence  which 
often  proves  more  persuasive  than  the  most  fluent 
speech. 

The  welcome  blaze  of  their   own   fire   gladdened 
them  at  length,  and  when  the  last  step  was  taken, 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.    115 

Sylvia  sat  down  with  an  inward  conviction  she  never 
could  get  up  again.  Warwick  told  their  mishap  in 
the  fewest  possible  words,  while  Max,  in  a  spasm  of 
brotherly  solicitude,  goaded  the  fire  to  a  roar  that  his 
sister's  feet  might  be  dried,  administered  a  cordial 
as  a  preventive  against  cold,  and  prescribed  her  ham 
mock  the  instant  supper  was  done.  She  went  away 
with  him,  but  a  moment  after  she  came  to  Warwick 
with  a  box  of  Prue's  ointment  and  a  soft  handkerchief 
stripped  into  bandages. 

"  What  now  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I  wish  to  dress  your  burns,  sir." 

"  They  will  do  well  enough  with  a  little  water ;  go 
you  and  rest." 

"  Mr.  Warwick,  you  know  you  ate  your  supper  with 
your  left  hand,  and  put  both  behind  you  when  you 
saw  me  looking  at  them.  Please  let  me  make  them 
easier ;  they  were  burnt  for  me,  and  I  shall  get  no 
sleep  till  I  have  had  my  way." 

There  was  a  curious  mixture  of  command  and  en 
treaty  in  her  manner,  and  before  their  owner  ha4  time 
to  refuse  or  comply,  the  scorched  hands  were  taken 
possession  of,  the  red  blisters  covered  with  a  cool 
bandage,  and  the  frown  of  pain  smoothed  out  of  War 
wick's  forehead  by  the  prospect  of  relief.  As  she  tied 
the  last  knot,  Sylvia  glanced  up  with  a  look  that 
mutely  asked  pardon  for  past  waywardness,  and  ex 
pressed  gratitude  for  past  help ;  then,  as  if  her  heart 
were  set  at  rest,  she  was  gone  before  her  patient  could 
return  his  thanks. 


116  MOODS. 

She  did  not  reappear,  Max  went  to  send  a  lad  after 
the  lost  boat,  and  the  two  friends  were  left  alone ; 
Warwick  watching  the  blaze,  Moor  watching  him,  till, 
with  a  nod  toward  a  pair  of  diminutive  boots  that 
stood  turning  out  their  toes  before  the  fire,  Adam 
said,  — 

"  The  wearer  of  those  defiant-looking  articles  is  the 
most  capricious  piece  of  humanity  it  was  ever  my 
fortune  to  see.  You  have  no  idea  of  the  life  she  has 
led  me  since  you  left." 

"  I  can  imagine  it." 

"  She  is  as  freakish  and  wears  as  many  shapes  as 
Puck,  —  a  will-o-the  wisp,  a  Sister  of  Charity,  an  im 
perious  woman,  a  meek-faced  child,  —  and  one  does 
not  know  in  which  part  she  pleases  most.  Hard  the 
task  of  him  who  wins  and  tries  to  hold  her." 

"  Hard,  yet  happy ;  for  a  word  will  tame  the  high 
spirit,  a  look  touch  the  tender  heart,-  a  kind  act  be 
repaid  with  one  still  kinder.  She  is  a  creature  to  be 
tenderly  taught,  and  cherished  with  the  wisest  love." 

Moor  spoke  low,  and  on  his  face  the  firelight  seemed 
to  shed  a  ruddier  glow  than  it  had  a  moment  before. 
Warwick  eyed  him  an  instant,  then  said,  with  his 
usual  abruptness,  — 

"  Geoffrey,  you  should  marry." 

"  I  hope  to  in  good  time.  Will  you  follow  my  ex 
ample  ? " 

"  When  some  woman  is  dearer  to  me  than  my  lib 
erty.  It  will  be  hard  to  find  a  mate,  and  I  am  in  no 
haste.  God  bless  your  wooing,  Geoffrey." 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.     117 

"  And  yours,  Adam." 

Then  with  a  hearty  hand-shake  more  expressive  of 
affection  than  many  a  tenderer  demonstration  the 
friends  parted,  Warwick  to  watch  the  stars  for  hours, 
and  Moor  to  muse  beside  the  fire  till  the  little  boots 
were  dry. 


MOODS. 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

A    GOLDEN    WEDDING. 

"1  TITHEETO  they  had  been  a  most  decorous  crew, 
-• — *-  but  the  next  morning  something  in  the  air 
seemed  to  cause  a  general  overflow  of  spirits,  and 
they  went  up  the  river  like  a  party  of  children  on  a 
merry-making.  Sylvia  decorated  herself  with  vines 
and  flowers  till  she  looked  like  a  wood-nymph ;  Max, 
as  skipper,  issued  his  orders  with  the  true  nautical 
twang ;  Moor  kept  up  a  fire  of  fun-provoking  raillery ; 
Warwick  sang  like  a  jovial  giant ;  the  Kelpie  danced 
over  the  water  as  if  inspired  by  the  universal  gayety, 
and  the  very  ripples  seemed  to  laugh  as  they  hurried 

by. 

"  This  is  just  the  day  for  adventures ;  I  hope  we 
shall  have  some,"  said  Sylvia,  waving  her  bulrush 
wand  as  if  to  conjure  up  fresh  delights  of  some  sort. 

"I  should  think  you  had  enough  yesterday  to 
satisfy  even  your  adventurous  soul,"  answered  Max, 
remembering  her  forlorn  plight  the  night  before. 

"I  never  have  enough  !  Life  was  made  to  enjoy, 
and  each  day  ought  to  be  different  from  the  last; 
then  one  would  n't  get  so  tired  of  everything.  See- 
how  easy  it  is.  Just  leave  the  old  behind  and  find 
so  much  that  is  new  and  lovely  within  a  few  miles 


A    GOLDEN   WEDDING.  119 

of  home.  I  believe  in  adventures,  and  mean  to  go 
and  seek  them  if  they  don't  come  to  me,"  cried  Sylvia, 
looking  about  her  as  if  her  new  kingdom  had  inspired 
her  with  new  ambitions'. 

"  I  think  an  adventure  is  about  to  arrive,  and  a 
very  stirring  one,  if  I  may  believe  those  black  clouds 
piling  up  yonder."  And  Warwick  pointed  to  the  sky 
where  the  frolicsome  west-wind  seemed  to  have  pre 
pared  a  surprise  for  them  in  the  shape  of  a  thunder- 
shower. 

"  I  shall  like  that.  I  'm  fond  of  storms,  and  have  no 
fear  of  lightning,  though  it  always  dances  round  me 
as  if  it  had  designs  upon  me.  Let  it  come ;  the 
heavier  the  storm  the  better.  We  can  sit  in  a  barn 
and  watch  it  rave  itself  quiet,"  said  Sylvia,  looking 
up  with  such  an  air  of  satisfaction  the  young  men 
felt  reassured,  and  rowed  on,  hoping  to  find  shelter 
before  the  rain. 

It  was  after  lunch,  and,  refreshed  by  the  cooler 
wind,  the  deepening  shadows,  the  rowers  pulled  lus 
tily,  sending  the  boat  through  the  water  with  the 
smooth  speed  given  by  strength  and  skill.  Sylvia 
steered,  but  often  forgot  her  work  to  watch  the  faces 
rising  and  falling  before  her,  full  of  increasing  reso 
lution  and  vigor,  for  soon  the  race  between  the  storm 
and  the  men  grew  exciting.  No  hospitable  house  or 
bam  appeared,  and  Max,  who  knew  the  river  best, 
thought  that  this  was  one  of  its  wildest  parts,  for 
marshes  lay  on  one  hand,  and  craggy  banks  on  the 
other,  with  here  and  there  a  stretch  of  hemlocks 


120  MOODS. 

9 

leaning  to  their  fall  as  the  current  slowly  washed 
away  the  soil  that  held  their  roots.  A  curtain  of  black 
cloud  edged  with  sullen  red  swept  rapidly  across  the 
sky,  giving  an  unearthly  look  to  both  land  and  water. 
Utter  silence  reigned  as  birds  flew  to  covert,  and  cat 
tle  herded  together  in  the  fields.  Only  now  and  then 
a  long,  low  sigh  went  through  the  air  like  the  pant 
of  the  rising  storm,  or  a  flash  of  lightning  without 
thunder  seemed  like  the  glare  of  angry  eyes. 

"  We  are  in  for  a  drenching,  if  that  suits  you,"  said 
Max,  turning  from  the  bow  where  he  sat,  ready  to 
leap  out  and  pull  the  boat  ashore  the  instant  shelter 
of  any  sort  appeared. 

"  I  shall  just  wrap  my  old  cloak  about  me  and  not 
mind  it.  Don't  think  of  me,  and  if  anything  does 
happen,  Mr.  Warwick  is  used  to  saving  me,  you  know." 

Sylvia  laughed  and  colored  as  she  spoke,  but  her 
eyes  shone  and  a  daring  spirit  looked  out  at  them  as 
if  it  loved  danger  as  well  as  his  own. 

"Hold  fast  then,  for  here  it  comes,"  answered 
Adam,  dropping  his  oar  to  throw  the  rug  about  her 
feet,  his  own  hat  into  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  and 
then  to  look  beyond  her  at  the  lurid  sky  with  the 
air  of  one  who  welcomed  the  approaching  strife  of 
elements. 

"  Lie  down  and  let  me  cover  you  with  the  sail ! " 
cried  Moor  anxiously,  as  the  first  puff  of  the  rising 
gale  swept  by. 

"  No,  no ;  I  want  to  see  it  all.  Eow  on,  or  land,  I 
don't  care  which.  It  is  splendid,  and  I  must  have  my 


A    GOLDEN   WEDDING.  121 

share  of  it,"  answered  Sylvia,  sending  her  hat  after 
Warwick's,  and  sitting  erect,  eager  to  prove  her 
courage. 

"  We  are  safer  here  than  in  those  woods,  or  soaking 
in  that  muddy  marsh,  so  pull  away,  mates,  and  we 
shall  reach  a  house  before  long,  I  arn  sure.  This  girl 
has  had  the  romance  of  roughing  it,  now  let  us  see 
how  the  reality  suits  her."  And  Max  folded  his  arms 
to  enjoy  his  sister's  dismay,  for  just  then,  as  if  the 
heavens  were  suddenly  opened,  down  came  a  rush  of 
rain  that  soon  drenched  them  to  the  skin. 

Sylvia  laughed,  and  shook  her  wet  hair  out  of  her 
eyes,  drank  the  great  drops  as  they  fell,  and  still  de 
clared  that  she  liked  it.  Moor  looked  anxious,  War 
wick  interested,  and  Max  predicted  further  ills  like  a 
bird  of  evil  'omen. 

They  came,  whirlwind  and  rain ;  thunder  that  deaf 
ened,  lightning  that  dazzled,  and  a  general  turmoil 
that  for  a  time  might  have  daunted  a  braver  heart 
than  the  girl's.  It  is  one  thing  to  watch  a  storm, 
safely  housed,  with  feather-beds,  non-conductors,  and 
friends  to  cling  to  ;  but  quite  another  thing  to  be  out 
in  the  tempest,  exposed  to  all  its  perils,  tossing  in  a 
boat  on  an  angry  river,  far  from  shelter,  with  novelty, 
discomfort,  and  real  danger  to  contend  with. 

But  Sylvia  stood  the  test  well,  seeming  to  find 
courage  from  the  face  nearest  her ;  for  that  never 
blenched  when  the  sharpest  bolt  fell,  the  most  vivid 
flash  blinded,  or  the  gale  drove  them  through  hissing 
water,  and  air  too  full  of  rain  to  show  what  rock  or 


122  MOODS. 

quicksand  might  lie  before  them.  She  did  enjoy  it  in 
spite  of  her  pale  cheeks,  dilated  eyes,  and  clutching 
hands  ;  and  sat  in  her  place  silent  and  steady,  with 
the  pale  glimmer  of  electricity  about  her  head,  while 
the  thunder  crashed  and  tongues  of  fire  tore  the  black 
clouds,  swept  to  and  fro  by  blasts  that  bowed  her 
like  a  reed. 

One  bolt  struck  a  tree,  but  it  fell  behind  them,  and 
just  as  Moor  was  saying,  "  We  must  land ;  it  is  no 
longer  safe  here,"  Max  cried  out,  — 

"  A  house  !  a  house  !  Pull  for  your  lives,  and  we 
will  be  under  cover  in  ten  minutes." 

Sylvia  never  forgot  that  brief  dash  round  the  bend, 
for  the  men  bent  to  their  oars  with  a  will,  and  the 
Kelpie  flew  like  a  bird,  while  with  streaming  hair 
and  smiling  lips  the  girl  held  fast,  enjoying  the  rap 
ture  of  swift  motion ;  for  the  friends  had  rowed  in 
many  waters  and  were  masters  of  their  craft. 

Landing  in  hot  haste,  they  bade  Sylvia  run  on, 
while  they  paused  to  tie  the  boat  and  throw  the  sail 
over  their  load,  lest  it  should  be  blown  away  as  well 
as  drenched. 

When  they  turned  to  follow,  they  saw  the  girl  run 
ning  down  the  long  slope  of  meadow  as  if  excitement 
gave  her  wings.  Max  raced  after  her,  but  the  others 
tramped  on  together,  enjoying  the  spectacle ;  for  few 
girls  know  how  to  run  or  dare  to  try ;  so  this  new 
Atalanta  was  the  more  charming  for  the  spirit  and 
speed  with  which  she  skimmed  along,  dropping  her 
cloak  and  looking  back  as  she  ran,  bent  on  outstrip 
ping  her  brother. 


A    GOLDEN   WEDDING.  123 

"A  pretty  piece  of  energy.  I  didn't  know  the 
creature  had  so  much  life  in  her,"  said  Warwick, 
laughing  as  Sylvia  leaped  a  brook  at  a  bound  and 
pressed  up  the  slope  beyond,  like  a  hunted  doe. 

"  Plenty  of  it ;  that  is  why  she  likes  this  wild  frolic 
so  heartily.  She  should  have  more  of  such  whole 
some  excitement  and  less  fashionable  dissipation.  I 
spoke  to  her  father  about  it,  and  persuaded  Prue  to 
let  her  come,"  answered  Moor,  eagerly  watching 
the  race. 

"  I  thought  you  had  been  at  work,  or  that  excellent 
piece  of  propriety  never  would  have  consented.  You 
can  persuade  the  hardest-hearted,  Geoffrey.  I  wish  I 
had  your  talent." 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen,"  began  Moor ;  then  both 
forgot  what  they  were  saying  to  give  a  cheer  as  Syl 
via  reached  the  road  and  stood  leaning  on  a  gate-post 
panting,  flushed,  and  proud,  for  Max  had  pressed  her 
hard  in  spite  of  the  advantage  she  had  at  the  start. 

They  found  themselves,  a  moist  and  mirthful  com 
pany,  before  a  red  farm-house  standing  under  ven 
erable  elrns,  with  a  patriarchal  air  which  promised 
hospitable  treatment  and  good  cheer,  —  a  promise 
speedily  fulfilled  by  the  lively  old  woman,  who  ap 
peared  with  an  energetic  "  Shoo ! "  for  the  speckled 
hens  congregated  in  the  porch,  and  a  hearty  welcome 
for  the  weather-beaten  strangers. 

"  Sakes  alive  ! "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  you  be  in  a  mess, 
ain't  you  ?  Come  right  in  and  make  yourselves  to 
home.  Abel,  take  the  men-folks  up  chamber,  and  fit 


124  MOODS. 

'em  out  with  anything  dry  you  kin  lay  hands  on. 
Phebe,  see  to  this  poor  little  creeter,  and  bring  her 
down  lookin'  less  like  a  drownded  kitten.  Nat,  clear 
up  your  wittlin's,  so  's  't  they  kin  toast  their  feet  when 
they  come  down ;  and,  Cinthy,  don't  dish  up  dinner 
jest  yet." 

These  directions  were  given  with  such  vigorous 
illustration,  and  the  old  face  shone  with  such  friendly 
zeal,  that  the  four  submitted  at  once,  sure  that  the 
kind  soul  was  pleasing  herself  in  serving  them,  and 
finding  something  very  attractive  in  the  place,  the 
people,  and  their  own  position.  Abel,  a  staid  farmer 
of  forty,  obeyed  his  mother's  order  regarding  the  "  men- 
folks  ; "  and  Phebe,  a  buxom  girl  of  sixteen,  led  Syl 
via  to  her  own  room,  eagerly  offering  her  best. 

As  she  dried  and  redressed  herself,  Sylvia  made 
sundry  discoveries,  which  added  to  the  romance  and 
the  enjoyment  of  the  adventure.  A  smart  gown  lay 
on  the  bed  in  the  low  chamber,  also  various  decora 
tions  upon  chair  and  table,  suggesting  that  some 
festival  was  afoot ;  and  a  few  questions  elicited  the 
facts.  Grandpa  had  seven  sons  and  three  daughters, 
all  living,  all  married,  and  all  blessed  with  flocks  of 
children.  Grandpa's  birthday  was  always  celebrated 
by  a  family  gathering ;  but  to-day,  being  the  fiftieth 
anniversary  of  his  wedding,  the  various  households 
had  resolved  to  keep  it  with  unusual  pomp ;  and  all 
were  coming  for  a  supper,  a  dance,  and  a  "  sing  "  at 
the  end.  Upon  receipt  of  which  intelligence  Sylvia 
proposed  an  immediate  departure;  but  the  grand- 


A    GOLDEN   WEDDING.  125 

mother  and  daughter  cried  out  at  this,  pointed  to  the 
still  falling  rain,  the  lowering  sky,  the  wet  heap  on 
the  floor,  and  insisted  on  the  strangers  all  remaining 
to  enjoy  the  festival,  and  give  an  added  interest  by 
their  presence. 

Half  promising  what  she  wholly  desired,  Sylvia  put 
on  Phebe's  best  blue  gingham  gown,  for  the  preser 
vation  of  which  she  added  a  white  apron,  and,  com 
pleting  the  whole  with  a  pair  of  capacious  shoes,  went 
down  to  find  her  party,  and  reveal  the  state  of  affairs. 
They  were  bestowed  in  the  prim  best  parlor,  and 
greeted  her  with  a  peal  of  laughter,  for  all  were  en 
costume.  Abel  was  a  stout  man,  and  his  garments 
hung  upon  Moor  with  a  melancholy  air ;  Max  had 
disdained  them,  and  with  an  eye  to  effect,  laid  hands 
on  an  old  uniform,  in  which  he  looked  like  a  volun 
teer  of  1812  ;  while  Warwick's  superior  height  placed 
Abel's  wardrobe  out  of  the  question ;  and  grandpa, 
taller  than  any  of  his  seven  goodly  sons,  supplied 
him  with  a  sober  suit,  —  roomy,  square-flapped  arid 
venerable,  —  which  became  him,  and  with  his  beard, 
produced  the  curious  effect  of  a  youthful  patriarch. 
To  Sylvia's  relief,  it  was  unanimously  decided  to  re 
main,  trusting  to  their  own  penetration  to  discover 
the  most  agreeable  method  of  returning  the  favor; 
and,  regarding  the  adventure  as  a  welcome  change, 
after  two  days'  solitude,  all  went  out  to  dinner  pre 
pared  to  enact  their  parts  with  spirit. 

The  meal  being  despatched,  Max  and  Warwick 
went  to  help  Abel  with  some  out-door  arrangements ; 


126  MOODS. 

and,  begging  grandma  to  consider  him  one  of  her  own 
boys,  Moor  tied  on  an  apron  and  fell  to  work  with 
Sylvia,  laying  the  long  table  which  was  to  receive  the 
coming  stores.  True  breeding  is  often  as  soon  felt  by 
the  uncultivated  as  by  the  cultivated ;  and  the  zeal 
with  which  the  strangers  threw  themselves  into  the 
business  of  the  hour  won  the  family,  and  placed  them 
all  in  friendly  relations  at  once.  The  old  lady  let 
them  do  what  they  would,  admiring  everything,  and 
declaring  over  and  over  again  that  her  new  assistants 
"  beat  her  boys  and  girls  to  nothin'  with  their  tasti- 
ness  and  smartness."  Sylvia  trimmed  the  table  with 
common  flowers  till  it  was  an  inviting  sight  before  a 
viand  appeared  upon  it,  and  hung  green  boughs  about 
the  room,  with  candles  here  and  there  to  lend  a  festal 
light.  Moor  trundled  a  great  cheese  in  from  the  dairy, 
brought  milk-pans  without  mishap,  disposed  dishes, 
and  caused  Nat  to  cleave  to  him  by  the  administration 
of  surreptitious  titbits  and  jocular  suggestions  ;  while 
Phebe  tumbled  about  in  every  one's  way,  quite  wild 
with  excitement ;  and  grandma  stood  in  her  pantry 
like  a  culinary  general,  swaying  a  big  knife  for  a  ba 
ton,  as  she  issued  orders  and  marshalled  her  forces, 
the  busiest  and  merriest  of  them  all. 

When  the  last  touch  was  given,  Moor  discarded  his 
apron  and  went  to  join  Max.  Sylvia  presided  over 
Phebe's  toilet,  and  then  sat  herself  down  to  support 
JSTat  through  the  trying  half-hour  before  the  party 
arrived.  The  twelve  years'  boy  was  a  cripple,  one  of 
those  household  blessings  which,  in  the  guise  of  an 


A    GOLDEN   WEDDING.  127 

affliction,  keep  many  hearts  tenderly  united  by  a  com 
mon  love  and  pity.  A  cheerful  creature,  always  chirp 
ing  like  a  cricket  on  the  hearth,  as  he  sat  carving  or 
turning  bits  of  wood  into  useful  or  ornamental  shapes 
for  such  as  cared  to  buy  them  of  him,  and  hoarding 
up  the  proceeds  like  a  little  miser  for  one  more  help 
less  than  himself. 

"  What  are  these,  Nat  ? "  asked  Sylvia,  with  the  in 
terest  that  always  won  small  people,  because  their 
quick  instincts  felt  that  it  was  sincere. 

"  Them  are  spoons  —  'postle  spoons,  they  call  'em. 
You  see  I  Ve  got  a  cousin  what  reads  a  sight,  and  one 
day  he  says  to  me,  'Nat,  in  a  book  I  see  somethin'  about 
a  set  of  spoons  with  a  'postle's  head  on  each  of  'em ; 
you  make  some  and  they  '11  sell,  I  bet.'  So  I  got 
gramper's  Bible,  found  the  picters  of  the  'postles,  and 
worked  and  worked  till  I  got  the  faces  good  ;  and  now 
it 's  fan,  for  they  do  sell,  and  I  'in  savin'  up  a  lot.  It 
ain't  for  me,  you  know,  but  mother,  'cause  she's  wuss'n 
I  be." 

"  Is  she  sick,  Nat  ? " 

"  Oh,  ain't  she !  Why  she  has  n't  stood  up  this 
nine  year.  We  was  smashed  in  a  wagon  that  tipped 
over  when  I  was  three  years  old.  It  done  somethin' 
to  my  legs,  but  it  broke  her  back,  and  made  her  no 
use,  only  jest  to  pet  me,  and  -keep  us  all  kind  of 
stiddy,  you  know.  Ain't  you  seen  her  ?  Don't  you 
want  to  ? " 

"Would  she, like  it?" 

"  She  admires  to  see  folks,  and  asked  about  you  at 


128  MOODS. 

dinner;  so  I  guess  you'd  better  go  see  her.  Look 
ahere,  you  like  them  spoons,  and  I  'm  agoin'  to  give 
you  one ;  I  'd  give  you  all  on  'em  if  they  was  n't 
promised.  I  can  make  one  more  in  time,  so  you  jest 
take  your  pick,  'cause  I  like  you,  and  want  you  not 
to  forgit  me." 

Sylvia  chose  Saint  John,  because  it  resembled  Moor, 
she  thought ;  bespoke  and  paid  for  a  whole  set,  and 
privately  resolved  to  send  tools  and  rare  woods  to 
the  little  artist  that  he  might  serve  his  mother  in  his 
own  pretty  way.  Then  Nat  took  up  his  crutches  and 
hopped  nimbly  before  her  to  the  room,  where  a  plain, 
serene-faced  woman  lay  knitting,  with  her  best  cap 
on,  her  clean  handkerchief  and  large  green  fan  laid 
out  upon  the  coverlet.  This  was  evidently  the  best 
room  of  the  house ;  and  as  Sylvia  sat  talking  to  the 
invalid  her  eye  discovered  many  traces  of  that  refine 
ment  which  comes  through  the  affections.  Nothing 
seemed  too  good  for  "  daughter  Patience ; "  birds, 
books,  flowers,  and  pictures  were  plentiful  here  though 
visible  nowhere  else.  Two  easy-chairs  beside  the  bed 
showed  where  the  old  folks  oftenest  sat ;  Abel's  home 
corner  was  there  by  the  antique  desk  covered  with 
farmers'  literature  and  samples  of  seeds;  Phebe's 
work-basket  stood  in  the  window ;  Nat's  lathe  in  the 
sunniest  corner ;  and  from  the  speckless  carpet  to 
the  canary's  clear  water-glass  all  was  exquisitely  neat, 
for  love  and  labor  were  the  handmaids  who  served  the 
helpless  woman  and  asked  no  wages  but  her  comfort. 

Sylvia  amused  her  new  friends  mightily ;  for,  finding 


A    GOLDEN    WEDDING.  129 

that  neither  mother  nor  son  had  any  complaints  to 
make,  any  sympathy  to  ask,  she  exerted  herself  to 
give  them  what  both  needed,  and  kept  them  laughing 
by  a  lively  recital  of  her  voyage  and  its  mishaps. 

"  Ain't  she  prime,  mother  ? "  was  Nat's  candid  com 
mentary  when  the  story  ended,  and  he  emerged  red 
and  shiny  from  the  pillows  where  he  had  burrowed 
with  boyish  explosions  of  delight. 

"  She  's  very  kind,  dear,  to  amuse  two  stay-at-home 
folks  like  you  and  me,  who  seldom  see  what 's  going 
on  outside  four  walls.  You  have  a  merry  heart,  miss, 
and  I  hope  will  keep  it  all  your  days,  for  it 's  a  blessed 
thing  to  own." 

"  I  think  you  have  something  better,  a  contented 
one,"  said  Sylvia,  as  the  woman  regarded  her  with  no 
sign  of  envy  or  regret. 

"  I  ought  to  have ;  nine  years  on  a  body's  back  can 
teach  a  sight  of  things  that  are  wuth  knowin'.  I  Ve 
learnt  patience  pretty  well,  I  guess,  and  contentedness 
ain't  fur  away ;  for  though  it  sometimes  seems  ruther 
long  to  look  forward  to,  perhaps  nine  more  years  layin' 
here,  I  jest  remember  it  might  have  been  wuss,  and 
if  I  don't  do  much  now  there 's  all  eternity  to  come." 

Something  in  the  woman's  manner  struck  Sylvia 
as  she  watched  her  softly  beating  some  tune  on  the 
sheet  with  her  quiet  eyes  turned  toward  the  light. 
Many  sermons  had  been  less  eloquent  to  the  girl  than 
the  look,  the  tone,  the  cheerful  resignation  of  that 
plain  face.  She  stooped  and  kissed  it,  saying  gently,  — 

"  I  shall  remember  this." 

9 


130  MOODS. 

"  Hooray  !  there  they  be ;  I  hear  Ben  ! " 

And  away  clattered  Nat  to  be  immediately  absorbed 
into  the  embraces  of  a  swarm  of  relatives  who  now 
began  to  arrive  in  a  steady  stream.  Old  and  young, 
large  and  small,  rich  and  poor,  with  overflowing  hands 
or  trifles  humbly  given,  all  were  received  alike,  all 
hugged  by  grandpa,  kissed  by  grandma,  shaken  half 
breathless  by  Uncle  Abel,  welcomed  by  Aunt  Patience, 
and  danced  round  by  Phebe  and  Nat  till  the  house 
seemed  a  great  hive  of  hilarious  and  affectionate  bees. 
At  first  the  strangers  stood  apart,  but  Phebe  spread 
their  s.tory  with  such  complimentary  additions  of  her 
own  that  the  family  circle  opened  wide  and  took  them 
in  at  once. 

Sylvia  was  enraptured  with  the  wilderness  of  babies, 
and,  leaving  the  others  to  their  own  devices,  followed 
the  matrons  to  "  Patience's  room,"  and  gave  herself 
up  to  the  pleasant  tyranny  of  the  small  potentates, 
who  swarmed  over  her  as  she  sat  on  the  floor,  tugging 
at  her  hair,  exploring  her  eyes,  covering  her  with 
moist  kisses,  and  keeping  up  a  babble  of  little  voices 
more  delightful  to  her  than  the  discourse  of  the 
flattered  mammas  who  benignly  surveyed  her  admi 
ration  and  their  offspring's  prowess. 

The  young  people  went  to  romp  in  the  barn ;  the 
men,  armed  with  umbrellas,  turned  out  en  masse  to 
inspect  the  farm  and  stock,  and  compare  notes  over 
pig-pens  and  garden  gates.  But  Sylvia  lingered  where 
she  was,  enjoying  a  scene  which  filled  her  with  a  ten 
der  pain  and  pleasure ;  for  each  baby  was  laid  on 


A   GOLDEN  WEDDING.  131 

grandma's  knee,  its  small  virtues,  vices,  ailments,  and 
accomplishments  rehearsed,  its  beauties  examined,  its 
strength  tested,  and  the  verdict  of  the  family  oracle 
pronounced  upon  it  as  it  was  cradled,  kissed,  and 
blessed  on  the  kind  old  heart  which  had  room  for 
every  care  and  joy  of  those  who  called  her  mother. 
It  was  a  sight  the  girl  never  forgot,  because  just  then 
she  was  ready  to  receive  it.  Her  best  lessons  did  not 
come  from  books,  and  she  learned  one  then  as  she  saw 
the  fairest  success  of  a  woman's  life  while  watching 
this  happy  grandmother  with  fresh  faces  framing  her 
withered  one,  daughterly  voices  chorusing  good  wishes, 
and  the  harvest  of  half  a  century  of  wedded  life  beau 
tifully  garnered  in  her  arms. 

The  fragrance  of  coffee  and  recollections  of  Cynthia's 
joyful  aberrations  at  such  periods  caused  a  breaking 
up  of  the  maternal  conclave.  The  babies  were  borne 
away  to  simmer  between  blankets  until  called  for. 
The  women  unpacked  baskets,  brooded  over  teapots, 
and  kept  up  an  harmonious  clack  as  the  table  was 
spread  with  pyramids  of  cake,  regiments  of  pies,  quag 
mires  of  jelly,  snow-banks  of  bread,  and  gold  mines 
of  butter ;  every  possible  article  of  food,  from  baked 
beans  to  wedding  cake,  finding  a  place  on  that  sacri 
ficial  altar. 

Fearing  to  be  in  the  way,  Sylvia  departed  to  the 
bam,  where  she  found  her  party  in  a  chaotic  Babel ; 
for  the  offshoots  had  been  as  fruitful  as  the  parent 
tree,  and  some  four  dozen  young  immortals  were  in 
full  riot.  The  bashful  roosting  with  the  hens  on 


132  MOODS. 

remote  lofts  and  beams ;  the  bold  flirting  or  playing 
in  the  full  light  of  day ;  the  boys  whooping,  the  girls 
screaming,  all  effervescing  as  if  their  spirits  had 
reached  the  explosive  point  and  must  find  vent  in 
noise.  Max  was  in  his  element,  introducing  all  man 
ner  of  new  games,  the  liveliest  of  the  old,  and  keeping 
the  revel  at  its  height ;  for  rosy,  bright-eyed  girls  were 
plenty,  and  the  ancient  uniform  universally  approved. 
Warwick  had  a  flock  of  lads  about  him  absorbed  in 
the  marvels  he  was  producing  with  knife,  stick,  and 
string ;  and  Moor,  a  rival  flock  of  little  lasses  breathless 
with  interest  in  the  tales  he  told.  One  on  each  knee, 
two  at  each  side,  four  in  a  row  on  the  hay  at  his  feet, 
and  the  boldest  of  all  with  an  arm  about  his  neck 
and  a  curly  head  upon  his  shoulder,  for  Uncle  Abel's 
clothes  seemed  to  invest  the  wearer  with  a  passport 
to  their  confidence  at  once.  Sylvia  joined  this  group, 
and  partook  of  a  quiet  entertainment  with  as  child 
like  a  relish  as  any  of  them,  while  the  merry  tumult 
went  on  about  her. 

The  toot  of  the  horn  sent  the  whole  barnful  stream 
ing  into  the  house  like  a  flock  of  hungry  chickens, 
where,  by  some  process  known  only  to  the  mothers  of 
large  families,  every  one  was  wedged  close  about  the 
table,  and  the  feast  began.  This  was  none  of  your 
stand-up,  wafery,  bread-and-butter  teas,  but  a  thorough 
going,  sit-down  supper,  and  all  settled  themselves  with 
a  smiling  satisfaction,  prophetic  of  great  powers  and 
an  equal  willingness  to  employ  them.  A  detachment 
of  half-grown  girls  was  drawn  up  behind  grandma,  as 


A   GOLDEN   WEDDING.  133 

waiters ;  Sylvia  insisted  on  being  one  of  them,  and 
proved  herself  a  neat-handed  Phillis,  though  for  a 
time  slightly  bewildered  by  the  gastronomic  perform 
ances  she  beheld.  Babies  ate  pickles,  small  boys 
sequestered  pie  with  a  velocity  that  made  her  wink, 
women  swam  in  the  tea,  and  the  men,  metaphorically 
speaking,  swept  over  the  table  like  a  swarm  of  locusts, 
while  the  host  and  hostess  beamed  upon  one  another 
and  their  robust  descendants  with  an  honest  pride, 
which  was  beautiful  to  see. 

"  That  Mr.  Wackett  ain't  eat  scursely  nothin',  he 
jest  sets  lookin'  round  kinder  'mazed  like.  Do  go 
and  make  him  fall  to  on  something  or  I  sha'n't  take  a 
mite  of  comfort  in  my  vittles,"  said  grandma,  as  the 
girl  came  with  an  empty  cup. 

"  He  is  enjoying  it  with  all  his  heart  and  eyes,  ma'am, 
for  we  don't  see  such  fine  spectacles  every  day.  I  '11 
take  him  something  that  he  likes  and  make  him  eat  it." 

"  Sakes  alive  !  be  you  to  be  Mis'  Wackett  ?  I  'd 
no  idee  of  it,  you  look  so  young." 

"  ISTor  I ;  we  are  only  friends,  ma'am." 

"  Oh  ! "  and  the  monosyllable  was  immensely  ex 
pressive,  as  the  old  lady  confided  a  knowing  nod  to 
the  teapot,  into  whose  depths  she  was  just  then  peer 
ing.  Sylvia  walked  away  wondering  why  persons 
were  always  thinking  and  saying  such  things. 

As  she  paused  behind  Warwick's  chair  with  a  glass 
of  new  milk  and  a  round  of  brown  bread,  he  looked 
up  at  her  with  his  blandest  expression,  though  a  touch 
of  something  like  regret  was  in  his  voice. 


134  MOODS. 

"  This  is  a  sight  worth  living  eighty  hard  years  to 
see,  and  I  envy  that  old  couple  as  I  never  envied  any 
one  before.  To  rear  ten  virtuous  children,  put  ten 
useful  men  and  women  into  the  world,  and  give  them 
health  and  courage  to  work  out  their  own  salvation 
as  these  honest  souls  will  do,  is  a  better  job  done  for 
the  Lord,  than  winning  a  battle  or  ruling  a  State. 
Here  is  all  honor  to  them.  Drink  it  with  me." 

He  put  the  glass  to  her  lips,  drank  what  she  left, 
and,  rising,  placed  her  in  his  seat  with  the  decisive 
air  which  few  resisted. 

"  You  take  no  thought  for  yourself  and  are  doing 
too  much ;  sit  here  a  little,  and  let  me  take  a  few 
steps  where  you  have  taken  many." 

He  served  her,  and,  standing  at  her  back,  bent  now 
and  then  to  speak,  still  with  that  softened  look  upon 
the  face  so  seldom  stirred  by  the  gentler  emotions  that 
lay  far  down  in  that  deep  heart  of  his. 

All  things  must  have  an  end,  even  a  family  feast, 
and  by  the  time  the  last  boy's  buttons  peremptorily 
announced,  "  Thus  far  shalt  thou  go  and  no  farther," 
all  professed  themselves  satisfied,  and  a  general  upris 
ing  took  place.  The  surplus  population  were  herded 
in  parlor  and  chambers,  while  a  few  energetic  hands 
cleared  away,  and  with  much  clattering  of  dishes  and 
wafting  of  towels,  left  grandma's  clean  premises  as 
immaculate  as  ever.  It  was  dark  when  all  was  done, 
so  the  kitchen  was  cleared,  the  candles  lighted,  Pa 
tience's  door  set  open,  and  little  Nat  established  in 
an  impromptu  orchestra,  composed  of  a  table  and  a 


A    GOLDEN   WEDDING.  135 

chair,  whence  the  first  squeak  of  his  fiddle  proclaimed 
that  the  ball  had  begun. 

Everybody  danced ;  the  babies,  stacked  on  Patience's 
bed  or  penned  behind  chairs,  sprawled  and  pranced 
in  unsteady  mimicry  of  their  elders.  Ungainly  farm 
ers,  stiff  with  labor,  recalled  their  early  days,  and 
tramped  briskly  as  they  swung  their  wives  about 
with  a  kindly  pressure  of  the  hard  hands  that  had 
worked  so  long  together.  Little  pairs  toddled  gravely 
through  the  figures,  or  frisked  promiscuously  in  a 
grand  conglomeration  of  arms  and  legs.  Gallant 
cousins  kissed  pretty  cousins  at  exciting  periods,  and 
were  not  rebuked.  Max  wrought  several  of  these  in 
cipient  lovers  to  a  pitch  of  despair,  by  his  devotion 
to  the  comeliest  damsels,  and  the  skill  with  which  he 
executed  unheard-of  evolutions  before  their  admiring 
eyes.  Moor  led  out  the  poorest  and  the  plainest  with 
a  respect  that  caused  their  homely  faces  to  shine,  and 
their  scant  skirts  to  be  forgotten.  Warwick  skimmed 
his  five  years'  partner  through  the  air  in  a  way  that 
rendered  her  speechless  with  delight;  and  Sylvia 
danced  as  she  never  danced  before.  With  sticky- 
fingered  boys,  sleepy  with  repletion,  but  bound  to 
last  it  out ;  with  rough-faced  men  who  paid  her  pater 
nal  compliments ;  with  smart  youths  who  turned 
sheepish  with  that  white  lady's  hand  in  their  big 
brown  ones,  and  one  ambitious  lad  who  confided  to 
her  his  burning  desire  to  work  a  sawmill,  and  marry 
a  girl  with  black  eyes  and  yellow  hair.  While, 
perched  aloft,  Nat  bowed  away  till  his  pale  face 


136  MOODS. 

glowed,  till  all  hearts  warmed,  all  feet  beat  responsive 
to  the  good  old  tunes  which  have  put  so  much  health 
into  human  bodies,  and  so  much  happiness  into  human 
souls. 

At  the  stroke  of  nine  the  last  dance  came.  All 
down  the  long  kitchen  stretched  two  breathless  rows  ; 
grandpa  and  grandma  at  the  top,  the  youngest  pair  of 
grandchildren  at  the  bottom,  and  all  between  fathers, 
mothers,  uncles,  aunts,  and  cousins,  while  such  of  the 
babies  as  were  still  extant  bobbed  with  unabated 
vigor,  as  Nat  struck  up  the  Virginia  Reel,  and  the 
sturdy  old  couple  led  off  as  gallantly  as  the  young  one 
who  came  tearing  up  to  meet  them.  Away  they  went, 
grandpa's  white  hair  flying  in  the  wind,  grandma's 
impressive  cap  awry  with  excitement,  as  they  ambled 
down  the  middle,  and  finished  with  a  kiss  when  their 
tuneful  journey  was  done,  amid  immense  applause 
from  those  who  regarded  this  as  the  crowning  event 
of  the  day. 

When  all  had  had  their  turn,  and  twirled  till  they 
were  dizzy,  a  short  lull  took  place,  with  refreshments 
for  such  as  still  possessed  the  power  of  enjoying  them. 
Then  Phebe  appeared  with  an  armful  of  books,  and 
all  settled  themselves  for  the  family  "  sing." 

Sylvia  had  heard  much  fine  music,  but  never  any 
that  touched  her  like  this,  for,  though  often  discordant, 
it  was  hearty,  with  that  undercurrent  of  feeling  which 
adds  sweetness  to  the  rudest  lay,  and  is  often  more 
attractive  than  the  most  florid  ornament  or  faultless 
execution.  Every  one  sang  as  every  one  had  danced, 


A    GOLDEN   WEDDING.  137 

with  all  their  might ;  shrill  children,  soft- voiced  girls, 
lullaby-singing  mothers,  gruff  boys,  and  strong-lunged 
men ;  the  old  pair  quavered,  and  still  a  few  indefati 
gable  babies  crowed  behind  their  little  coops.  Songs, 
ballads,  comic  airs,  popular  melodies,  and  hymns 
came  in  rapid  succession.  And  when  they  ended 
with  that  song  which  should  be  classed  with  sacred 
music  for  association's  sake,  and,  standing  hand  in 
hand  about  the  room  with  the  golden  bride  and  bride 
groom  in  their  midst,  sang  "Home,"  Sylvia  leaned 
against  her  brother  with  dim  eyes  and  a  heart  too  full 
to  sing. 

Still  standing  thus  when  the  last  note  had  soared 
up  and  died,  the  old  man  folded  his  hands  and  began 
to  pray.  It  was  an  old-fashioned  prayer,  such  as  the 
girl  had  never  heard  from  the  Bishop's  lips ;  ungram- 
matical,  inelegant,  and  long.  A  quiet  talk  with  God, 
manly  in  its  straightforward  confession  of  short 
comings,  childlike  in  its  appeal  for  guidance,  fervent 
in  its  gratitude  for  all  good  gifts,  and  the  crowning 
one  of  loving  children.  As  if  close  intercourse  had 
made  the  two  familiar,  this  human  father  turned  to 
the  Divine,  as  these  sons  and  daughters  turned  to  him, 
as  free  to  ask,  as  confident  of  a  reply,  as  all  afflictions, 
blessings,  cares,  and  crosses  were  laid  down  before 
him,  and  the  work  of  eighty  years  submitted  to  his 
hand.  There  were  no  sounds  in  the  room  but  the  one 
voice  often  tremulous  with  emotion  and  with  age,  the 
coo  of  some  dreaming  baby,  or  the  low  sob  of  some 
mother  whose  arms  were  empty,  as  the  old  man  stood 


138  MOODS. 

there,  rugged  and  white  atop  as  the  granite  hills,  with 
the  old  wife  at  his  side,  a  circle  of  sons  and  daughters 
girdling  them  round,  and  in  all  hearts  the  thought  that 
as  the  former  wedding  had  been  made  for  time,  this 
golden  one  at  eighty  must  be  for  eternity. 

While  Sylvia  looked  and  listened,  a  sense  of  genu 
ine  devotion  stole  over  her ;  the  beauty  and  the  worth 
of  prayer  grew  clear  to  her  through  the  earnest  speech 
of  that  unlettered  man,  and  for  the  first  time  she  fully 
felt  the  nearness  and  the  dearness  of  the  Universal 
Father,  whom  she  had  been  taught  to  fear,  yet  longed 
to  love. 

"  Now,  my  children,  you  must  go  before  the  little 
folks  are  tuckered  out,"  said  Grandpa  heartily. 
"  Mother  and  rne  can't  say  enough  toe  thank  you  for 
the  presents  you  have  fetched  us,  the  dutiful  wishes 
you  have  give  us,  the  pride  and  comfort  you  have  al- 
ers  ben  toe  us.  I  ain't  no  hand  at  speeches,  so  I  sha'n't 
make  none,  but  jest  say  ef  any  'fliction  falls  on  any 
on  you,  remember  mother 's  here  toe  help  you  bear  it ; 
ef  any  worldly  loss  conies  toe  you,  remember  father's 
house  is  yourn  while  it  stans,  and  so  the  Lord  bless 
and  keep  us  all." 

"  Three  cheers  for  gramper  and  grammer  ! "  roared  a 
six-foot  scion  as  a  safety-valve  for  sundry  unmasculine 
emotions,  and  three  rousing  hurras  made  the  rafters 
ring,  struck  terror  to  the  heart  of  the  oldest  inhabi 
tant  of  the  rat-haunted  garret,  and  summarily  woke 
all  the  babies. 

Then  the  good-byes  began ;  the  flurry  of  wrong  bas- 


A    GOLDEN  WEDDING.  139 

kets,  pails  and  bundles  in  wrong  places ;  the  sorting 
out  of  small  folk  too  sleepy  to  know  or  care  what 
became  of  them  ;  the  maternal  duckings  and  paternal 
shouts  for  Kitty,  Cy,  Ben,  Bill,  or  Mary  Ann;  the 
piling  into  vehicles  with  much  ramping  of  indignant 
horses  unused  to  such  late  hours ;  the  last  farewells, 
the  roll  of  wheels,  as  one  by  one  the  happy  loads  de 
parted,  and  peace  fell  upon  the  household  for  another 
year. 

"  I  declare  for 't,  I  never  had  sech  an  out  an'  out 
good  time  sense  I  was  born  into  the  world.  A'brarn, 
you  are  fit  to  drop,  and  so  be  I ;  now  let 's  set  and  talk 
it  over  along  of  Patience  Tore  we  go  to  bed." 

The  old  couple  got  into  their  chairs,  and  as  they  sat 
there  side  by  side,  remembering  that  she  had  given  no 
gift,  Sylvia  crept  behind  them,  and,  lending  the  magic 
of  her  voice  to  the  simple  air,  sang  the  fittest  song  for 
time  and  place,  —  "  John  Anderson,  my  Jo."  It  was 
too  much  for  grandma,  the  old  heart  overflowed,  and 
reckless  of  the  cherished  cap  she  laid  her  head  on  her 
"  John's  "  shoulder,  exclaiming  through  her  tears,  — 

"  That 's  the  cap  sheaf  of  the  hull,  and  I  can't  bear 
no  more  to-night.  A'bram,  lend  me  your  hankchif, 
for  I  dunno  where  mine  is,  and  my  face  is  all  of  a 
drip." 

Before  the  red  bandanna  in  grandpa's  hand  had  gen 
tly  performed  its  work,  Sylvia  slipped  away  to  share 
Phebe's  bed  in  the  old  garret ;  lying  long  awake,  full 
of  new  and  happy  thoughts,  and  lulled  to  sleep  at  last 
by  the  pleasant  patter  of  the  rain  upon  the  roof. 


140  MOODS. 

CHAPTEE  VIII. 

SEKMONS. 

rpHE  summer  shower  was  over  long  before  dawn, 
-*-  and  the  sun  rose,  giving  promise  of  a  sultry  day. 
It  was  difficult  to  get  away,  for  the  good  people  found 
their  humdrum  life  much  enlivened  by  these  pleasant 
guests.  The  old  lady  consoled  herself  by  putting  up 
a  sumptuous  lunch  from  the  relics  of  the  feast ;  the 
grateful  wanderers  left  their  more  solid  thanks  in 
Nat's  pocket,  and  departed  with  friendliest  farewells. 

It  was  Sunday,  and  the  chime  of  distant  church 
bells  tolled  them  sweetly  down  the  river,  till  the  heat 
drove  them  to  the  refreshing  shade  of  three  great  oaks 
in  a  meadow  \vhere  a  spring  bubbled  up  among  the 
gnarled  roots  of  one  tree  to  overflow  its  mossy  basin, 
and  steal  into  the  brook  babbling  through  the  grass. 

Here  they  lunched,  and  rested,  the  young  men  go 
ing  off  to  bathe,  and  Sylvia  falling  asleep  among  the 
ferns  that  fringed  the  old  oak  like  elves  dancing  round 
a  giant.  A  delicious  hour  for  her,  so  still,  so  green, 
so  grateful  was  all  about  her,  so  peaceful  her  own 
spirit,  so  dreamless  her  tranquil  slumber.  Nature 
seemed  to  have  taken  her  restless  little  child  to  her 
beneficent  bosom,  and  blessed  her  with  the  sleep 
which  comforts  mind  and  body. 


SERMONS.  141 

So  Warwick  thought,  coming  upon  her  unaware  as 
he  paused  to  drink,  and  a  soft  gust  parted  the  tall 
ferns  that  waved  above  her.  She  looked  so  young, 
so  peaceful,  and  so  happy  on  her  green  couch,  with  the 
light  shadows  flickering  on  her  face,  her  head  pillowed 
on  her  arms,  ease,  grace,  and  the  loveliness  of  youth- 
in  every  limb  and  outline,  that  Warwick  could  not 
resist  the  desire  to  linger  for  a  moment. 

Max  would  have  seen  a  pretty  picture  ;  Moor,  the 
creature  whom  he  loved;  Adam  seemed  to  see  not 
only  what  she  was,  but  what  she  might  be.  Some 
faces  are  blank  masks  when  asleep,  some  betray  the 
lower  nature  painfully,  others  seem  to  grow  almost 
transparent  and  let  the  soul  shine  through.  This 
comes  oftenest  when  suffering  has  refined  the  flesh,  or 
death  touched  it  with  the  brief  beauty  that  writes  the 
story  of  a  lifetime  on  perishable  clay  before  it  crum 
bles  into  dust.  In  certain  high  and  happy  moods  un 
consciousness  brings  out  harmonious  lines,  soft  tints, 
and  ennobles  a  familiar  face  till  we  feel  that  we  see 
the  true  self,  and  recognize  the  soul  we  love. 

It  seemed  so  then ;  and  as  he  leaned  against  the  oak, 
listening  to  the  music  of  the  brook  and  looking  down 
at  the  winsome  figure  at  his  feet,  Warwick  found  him 
self  shaping  the  life  and  character  of  the  woman  still 
folded  up  in  the  girl,  and  shaping  it  to  fit  an  ideal  he 
had  made  and  cherished,  yet  never  met.  An  heroic 
creature,  strong  and  sweet,  aspiring  as  a  flame,  and 
true  as  steel.  Not  an  impossible  woman,  but  a  rare 
one ;  and  the  charm  Sylvia  had  for  him  was  a  sug- 


142  MOODS. 

gestion  of  this  possibility  when  time  had  taught  and 
discipline  tamed  the  wildness  that  was  akin  to  his 
own. 

He  let  his  daring  fancy  paint  her  as  she  would  be 
ten  years  hence,  himself  her  lover,  and  the  life  they 
might  lead  together,  as  free  as  his  was  now,  but  hap 
pier  for  the  inspiration  of  such  sweet  and  helpful 
comradeship. 

He  had  forgotten  Sylvia,  and  was  just  entering  a 
new  world  with  the  noble  mate  he  had  evoked  from 
his  own  ardent  and  powerful  imagination,  when  Moor's 
distant  voice  startled  him,  and,  as  if  unready  to  be 
seen  in  that  soft  mood,  he  swung  himself  up  into  the 
tree,  rapidly  disappearing  in  the  green  wilderness 
above. 

The  same  sound  roused  Sylvia,  and  made  her  hasten 
to  bathe  her  face  with  cool  drops  caught  in  her  hands, 
to  rebraid  her  long  hair,  and  re  trim  her  dress  with 
knots  of  wild-flowers  at  throat  and  belt ;  then,  her  rus 
tic  toilet  made,  she  stepped  out  of  her  nest,  rosy,  fresh, 
and  sunny  as  a  little  child  just  waking  from  its  nap. 

Fancying  a  green  band  for  her  head,  she  strolled 
away  to  the  river-side  where  the  rushes  grew,  and 
took  her  little  Bible  with  her,  remembering  the  com 
mands  pious  Prue  laid  upon  her  "  not  to  be  quite  a 
heathen  while  she  was  gone." 

She  lingered  for  half  an  hour,  feeling  unusually  de 
vout  in  that  tranquil  spot,  with  no  best  clothes  to 
disturb  her  thoughts,  no  over-fussy  sister  to  vex  her 
spirit,  no  neglected  duties  or  broken  resolutions  to 


SERMONS.  143 

make  church-going  a  penitential  period  of  remorse. 
When  she  returned  to  the  oaks  she  found  the  three 
friends  discussing  religion  as  young  men  seldom  fail 
to  do  in  these  days  of  speculation  and  spiritual  dis 
content.  She  modestly  hovered  at  a  distance  till  a 
pause  came,  then  approached,  asking  meekly,  — 

"  Please,  could  I  come  to  church  if  I  sit  very  still  ? " 

"  Come  on,"  said  Max,  from  the  grass  where  he  was 
lying. 

Moor  sprang  up  to  offer  her  the  rug  with  an  air  of 
welcome  which  she  could  not  doubt,  and  Warwick 
nodded  with  a  somewhat  belligerent  expression,  as  if 
suddenly  checked  in  some  verbal  tournament. 

"  Prue  said  if  we  stayed  over  Sunday  I  must  go  to 
church,  and  I  have  done  my  best,"  said  Sylvia,  glanc 
ing  at  the  little  book  in  her  hand.  "  Now,  if  Mr. 
Moor  or  Mr.  Warwick  would  give  us  a  sermon,  Max 
and  I  can  say  we  obeyed  her." 

<l  Come,  Geoffrey,  your  memory  is  full  of  good  and 
pious  poetry  ;  give  us  something  new  and  true.  We 
need  n't  sing  it,  but  it  may  suggest  a  sermon,  and  that 
is  more  in  Adam's  line  than  yours,"  added  Max,  ready 
to  while  away  another  hour  till  the  afternoon  grew 
cooler. 

Moor  thought  a  moment,  and  then,  as  if  their  con 
versation  suggested  it,  repeated  one  of  Herbert's  quaint 
old  hymns. 

' '  Lord,  with  what  care  hast  thou  begirt  us  round ! 

Parents  first  season  us:  then  schoolmasters 
Deliver  us  to  laws  ;  they  send  us  bound 
To  rules  of  reason,  holy  messengers, 


144  MOODS. 

"  Pulpits  and  Sundayes,  sorrow  dogging  sinne, 

Afflictions  sorted,  anguish  of  all  t>izes, 
Fine  nets  and  stratagems  to  catch  us  in  ; 
Bibles  laid  open,  millions  of  surprises  ; 

"Blessings  beforehand,  tyes  of  gratefulnesse  ; 
The  sound  of  glorie  ringing  in  our  eares  ; 
Without,  our  shame  ;  within,  our  consciences  ; 
Angels  and  grace,  'eternall  hopes  and  f eares. 

"Yet  all  these  fences  and  their  whole  array, 
One  cunning  bosome-sin  blows  quite  away." 

"  There  is  your  text,  Adam,  take  it  and  hold  forth ; 
you  were  born  for  a  field  preacher  and  have  missed 
your  vocation.  I  wish  you  would  turn  minister  and 
beat  the  dust  out  of  some  of  the  old  pulpit  cushions, 
for  we  need  a  livelier  theology  than  most  of  us  get 
nowadays,"  said  Max,  as  Moor  paused  and  Sylvia 
looked  as  if  the  hymn  pleased  her  much. 

"  If  I  did  stray  into  a  pulpit  you  would  get  the 
gospel  undiluted,  and  sins  of  all  sorts  would  fare 
hardly,  for  I  would  cry  aloud  and  spare  not." 

"  Try  it  now ;  it  will  be  immensely  amusing  to  be 
raked  fore  and  aft  while  lounging  here  as  if  we  were 
getting  to  heaven  '  on  flowery  beds  of  ease.'  Begin 
with  me.  I  'm  fair  game,  and  furnish  material  for  a 
dozen  sermons  on  a  dozen  sins,"  laughed  Max,  hoping 
to  draw  his  friend  out  and  astonish  his  sister. 

"  Good  !  I  will."  And  Warwick  looked  as  if  bela 
boring  frail  humanity  was  a  task  he  relished. 

"  Your  bosom  sin  is  indolence  of  soul  and  body, 
heart  and  mind.  Fortune  has  been  your  bane,  liberty 


SERMONS.  145 

ill  used,  life  your  plaything,  not  your  lesson ;  for  you 
have  not  learned  how  to  use  either  fortune,  liberty,  or 
life.  Pride  is  your  only  energy ;  patience  simple  en 
durance  of  whatever  you  have  not  courage  to  over 
come  ;  ambition  a  vacillating  desire  for  success  which 
every  failure  lessens,  and  the  aim  of  existence  is  to  be 
carried  painlessly  through  a  world  waiting  for  every 
man  to  help  on  its  salvation  by  making  his  own  life 
a  victory,  not  a  defeat.  Shall  I  go  on  ? " 

"  Fire  away ;  every  shot  tells.  It  is  rather  sharp 
rifle-practice  while  it  lasts,  but  the  target  is  the  better 
for  it,  I  dare  say." 

Max  spoke  gayly  and  still  lounged  on  the  grass  ;  but 
Sylvia  knew,  by  the  gesture  that  half  averted  his  face, 
and  the  interest  with  which  he  punched  holes  in  the 
turf,  that  it  was  rather  hard  upon  one  more  used  to 
praise  than  blame.  Warwick  knew  it  also,  and  there 
was  a  perceptible  softening  of  the  ruthless  voice  as  he 
went  on. 

"  You  need  a  purpose,  Max,  an  object  beyond  your 
own  satisfaction  or  success.  This  would  show  you 
what  good  gifts  you  now  neglect,  teach  you  their  uses, 
and  prove  to  you  that  the  best  culture  lies  in  perfect 
ing  these  tools  for  the  education  of  yourself  and 
others.  Adversity  may  spur  you  into  action,  love  may 
supply  a  noble  motive,  or  experience  make  you  what 
you  should  be,  —  a  man  with  a  work  and  a  will  to  do  it. 
You  owe  this  to  your  father,  and  I  believe  the  debt 
will  be  honestly  paid." 

"It  shall  be !"  And  Max  sat  up  with  a  sudden 
10 


146  MOODS. 

energy  pleasant  to  behold.  Resolution,  regret,  and 
affection  made  his  usually  listless  face  manly  and  seri 
ous  as  well  as  tender,  for  that  allusion  to  his  father 
touched  him,  and  the  thought  of  Jessie  lightened  a 
task  he  knew  would  be  a  very  hard  one. 

Always  quick  to  spare  others  embarrassment  or 
pain,  Moor  said  pleasantly,  "  Now  take  the.  next  mem 
ber  of  your  flock,  and  do  not  spare  him,  Adam." 

Warwick  looked  as  if  he  would  rather  let  this  sheep 
go,  but,  loving  justice  as  well  as  truth,  he  hardened  his 
heart  and  spoke  out. 

''You  are  enamored  of  self-sacrifice,  Geoffrey,  and 
if  you  lived  in  monkish  times  would  wear  a  spiked 
girdle  or  haircloth  shirt,  lest  you  should  be  too  com 
fortable.  Unlike  Max,  you  polish  your  tools  carefully 
and  are  skilful  in  handling  them,  but  you  use  them 
entirely  for  others,  forgetting  that  we  owe  a  good  deal 
to  ourselves.  You  have  made  a  small  circle  your 
world,  and  lived  in  the  affections  too  much.  You  need 
a  larger  life  and  more  brain-work  to  keep  you  from 
growing  narrow  or  weak.  One  sacrifice  beautifully  and 
faithfully  made  must  have  its  reward.  For  years  you 
have  lived  for  others,  now  learn  to  live  a  little  for 
yourself,  heartily  and  happily,  else  the  feminine  in 
you  will  get  the  uppermost." 

"  Thank  you,  I  will  as  soon  as  possible."  And  Moor 
gave  Warwick  a  look  which  was  both  grateful  and 
glad,  since  the  friendly  advice  confirmed  a  cherished 
purpose  of  his  own. 

"  Lost  lamb,  come  into  the  fold  and  be  shorn ! " 


SERMONS.  147 

called  Max,  enjoying  Sylvia's  face,  which  wore  an  ex 
pression  of  mingled  interest,  amusement,  and  trepi 
dation.  With  a  start  she  gathered  herself  up,  and 
went  to  sit  on  a  little  stone  before  the  censor,  folding 
her  hands  and  meekly  asking,  — 

"  What  must  /  do  ? " 

"  Forget  yourself." 

Sylvia  colored  to  her  brow,  but  answered  bravely,  — 

11  Show  me  how." 

"  My  panacea  for  most  troubles  is  work.  Try  it, 
and  I  think  you  will  find  that  it  will  promote  that 
healthfulness  of  spirit  which  is  the  life  of  life.  Don't 
let  fogs  hide  your  sunshine ;  don't  worry  your  young 
wits  with  metaphysics,  or  let  romantic  dreams  take  the 
charm  from  the  wholesome,  homely  realities,  without 
which  we  cannot  live  sanely  and  safely.  Get  out  of 
yourself  awhile,  and  when  you  go  back  you  will  find, 
I  hope,  a  happy  soul  in  a  healthy  body,  and  be  what 
God  intended  you  to  be,  a  brave  and  noble  woman." 

Warwick  saw  the  girl's  color  rise,  her  eyes  fall,  and 
in  her  face  a  full  acknowledgment  of  the  veracity  of 
both  censure  and  commendation.  That  satisfied  him, 
and  before  she  could  speak  he  turned  on  Max,  saying 
with  a  sudden  change  from  gentle  gravity  to  the  sa 
tirical  tone  more  habitual  to  him,  — 

"  ISTow  you  will  say,  '  Physician,  heal  thyself,'  and 
ask  for  my  chief  sin.  I  '11  give  you  a  sample  of  it." 

Then,  looking  very  much  like  a  war-horse  when 
trumpets  blow,  he  launched  into  a  half-earnest,  half- 
humorous  philippic  against  falsehood  everywhere,  giv- 


148  MOODS. 

ing  to  his  vigorous  speech  the  aids  of  satire,  sense, 
and  an  unusually  varied  experience  for  one  of  his  age. 
Max  sat  up  and  applauded,  Moor  listened  with  de 
light,  and  Sylvia  felt  as  if  the  end  of  all  things  was  at 
hand.  Such  an  audacious  onslaught  upon  established 
customs,  creeds,  and  constitutions,  she  had  never  heard 
before  ;  for,  as  Warwick  charged,  down  went  the  stern 
religion  that  preaches  heaven  for  the  saint  and  hell 
for  the  sinner,  the  base  legislation  which  decrees  lib 
erty  to  the  white  and  slavery  to  the  black,  the  false 
public  opinion  that  grants  all  suffrages  to  man  and 
none  to  woman  yet  judges  both  alike,  —  all  knavery  in 
high  places,  all  gilded  shams,  all  dead  beliefs, — and  up 
went  the  white  banner  of  infinite  justice,  truth,  and 
love.  It  was  a  fight  well  fought  but  not  wholly  won ; 
for  in  spite  of  sagacity,  eloquence,  and  zeal,  Warwick's 
besetting  sin  was  indomitable,  and  those  who  listened, 
while  they  owned  the  sincerity,  felt  the  power,  ad 
mired  the  enthusiasm,  saw  that  this  valiant  St.  George 
rode  without  a  Una,  and  in  executing  justice  forgot 
mercy,  like  many  another  young  crusader  who,  in  his 
ardor  to  set  up  the  New  Jerusalem,  breaks  the  com 
mandments  of  the  Divine  Eeformer  who  immortalized 
the  old. 

When  at  last  he  reined  himself  in,  looking  ready 
for  another  breakage  of  idols  at  the  slightest  provoca 
tion,  Max  said  with  a  waggish  glance  at  his  sister,  — 

"  You  seem  to  be  holding  on  to  that  stone  as  if  you 
thought  the  foundations  of  the  earth  were  giving 
way.  How  do  you  like  your  sermon,  Sylvia  ? " 


SERMONS.  149 

"  Very  much,  what  I  understand  of  it ;  but  I  do 
feel  as  if  there  had  been  an  earthquake,  and  it  will 
take  me  some  time  to  get  settled  again.  It  is  a  little 
startling  to  have  all  the  props  one  has  been  taught 
to  lean  upon  knocked  away  at  once,  and  be  left  to 
walk  alone  without  quite  knowing  where  the  road 
ends." 

Max  laughed ;  Moor  looked  as  if  she  had  exactly 
expressed  the  feeling  most  persons  felt  after  one  of 
Adam's  "  upheavals,"  as  his  friend  called  them  ;  but 
Warwick  said,  with  his  decided  nod,  as  if  well 
pleased, — 

"  That  is  just  as  it  should  be.  I  'm  a  pioneer,  and 
love  to  plough  in  any  soil,  no  matter  how  sandy  or 
rough  it  may  be.  The  sower  comes  after  me,  and  if 
the  harvest  is  a  good  one,  I^am  satisfied  to  do  the  hard 
work  without  wages." 

He  certainly  received  them  this  time,  for  Sylvia 
looked  up  at  him  as  he  rose,  evidently  tired  of  longer 
repose,  and  said,  with  the  sweetest  confidence  and 
gratitude  in  her  face,  — 

"  Let  rne  thank  you  for  this  and  many  other  les 
sons  which  will  set  me  thinking,  and  help  me  to  be 
what  you  so  kindly  hope.  I  shall  not  forget  them, 
and  trust  they  have  not  fallen  on  a  barren  soil." 

It  was  not  a  child's  face  that  Warwick  saw  then, 
but  a  woman's,  earnest,  humble,  and  lovely  with  the 
awakening  of  an  innocent,  aspiring  soul.  Involunta 
rily  he  took  his  hat  off,  with  a  look  both  reverent  and 
soft. 


150  MOODS. 

"  A  virgin  soil  is  always  the  richest,  and  I  have  no 
fear  that  the  harvest  will  fail.  Heaven  send  you  sun 
and  rain,  and  a  wise  husbandman  to  help  you  gather 
it  in." 

Then  he  went  away  to  get  the  boat  ready  for  the 
evening  sail.  Max  went  off  to  a  farm-house  for  milk, 
and  Moor  and  Sylvia  were  left  alone. 

Touched  to  the  heart  by  the  blessing  that  came 
with  redoubled  power  from  lips  so  lately  full  of  de 
nunciation,  the  girl  still  sat  upon  her  little  stone,  seem 
ingly  wrapped  in  thoughts  that  both  excited  and 
troubled  her,  for  presently  she  sighed. 

Moor,  who  lay  reading  in  the  grass,  stealing  a 
glance  at  his  companion  now  and  then,  was  glad  of 
an  opportunity  to  speak,  and,  sitting  up,  asked  in  his 
friendly  voice,  — 

"  Has  all  this  talk  tired  you  ?  " 

"  No,  it  has  stirred  me  up  and  made  me  feel  as  if  I 
must  lay  hold  of  something  at  once,  or  drift  away 
I  don't  know  where.  Mr.  Warwick  has  pulled  iny 
world  to  pieces,  but>  has  given  me  no  other,  and  I 
don't  know  where  to  look.  His  philosophy  is  too 
large  for  me,  I  get  lost  in  it,  and  though  I  admire 
I  cannot  manage  it  yet,  and  so  feel  bewildered."  Syl 
via  spoke  out  as  if  the  thoughts  in  her  mind  must 
find  a  vent  at  any  cost,  and  to  no  one  could  she  so 
freely  utter  them  as  to  this  friend  who  was  always 
kind  and  patient  with  her  moods. 

"  You  must  not  let  Adam's  thunder  and  lightning 
disturb  you.  We  have  seen  the  world  through  his 


SERMONS.  151 

glass,  which,  though  a  powerful  one,  is  not  always 
well  regulated,  so  we  get  a  magnified  view  of  things. 
He  is  a  self-reliant  genius,  intent  on  his  own  aims, 
which,  fortunately,  are  high  ones,  for  he  would  go 
vigorously  wrong  if  it  were  not  for  the  native  integ 
rity  which  keeps  him  vigorously  right.  He  has  his 
work  to  do,  and  will  do  it  manfully  when  he  gets 
through  the  'storm  and  stress  period'  of  which  I 
told  you." 

"  I  like  it  because  I  think  I  am  in  a  little  period  of 
my  own.  If  I  dared,  I  should  like  to  ask  you  how 
best  to  get  out  of  it." 

"  You  may  ask  anything  of  me  ! " 

Sylvia  spoke  hesitatingly,  but  Moor's  eager  answer 
made  it  easy  to  go  on,  it  was  so  clear  that  these  con 
fidences  were  acceptable ;  she  little  knew  how  much 
so. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  sudden  conversions  ? "  she 
asked  presently. 

"  Yes  ;  for  often  what  seems  sudden  is  only  the  flow 
ering  of  some  secret  growth,  unsuspected  till  the  heat 
of  pain  or  passion  calls  it  out.  We  feel  the  need  of 
help  that  nothing  human  can  give  us,  instinctively 
ask  it  of  a  higher  power,  and,  receiving  it  in  marvel 
lous  ways,  gratefully  and  devoutly  say,  '  I  believe.' " 

"  That  time  has  not  come  to  me."  Then,  as  if  a 
wave  of  feeling  too  strong  to  be  repressed  rolled  up 
and  broke  into  words,  Sylvia  rapidly  went  on :  "I 
know  that  I  need  something  to  lean  upon,  believe 
in,  and  love;  for  I  am  not  steadfast,  and  every 


152  MOODS. 

wind  blows  me  about.  I  try  to  find  the  help  I  want. 
I  look  into  people's  faces,  watch  their  lives,  and  en 
deavor  to  imitate  all  that  I  admire  and  respect.  I 
read  the  best  and  wisest  books  I  can  find,  and  tire  my 
weak  wits  trying  to  understand  them.  I  pray  prayers, 
sing  hymns,  and  go  to  church,  hoping  to  find  the  piety 
which  makes  life  good  and  happy.  I  ask  all  whom  I 
dare  to  help  rne,  yet  I  am  not  helped.  My  father 
says,  '  Keep  happy,  dear,  and  no  fear  but  you  will  get 
to  heaven.'  Prue  says,  '  Eead  your  Bible  and  talk  to 
the  Bishop.'  Max  laughs,  and  tells  me  to  fall  in  love 
if  I  desire  beatitude.  Every  one  assures  me  that 
religion  is  a  blessed  thing  and  salvation  impossible 
without  it,  yet  no  one  gives  me  a  simple  sustaining 
faith  to  love,  to  lean  on,  and  live  by.  So  I  stumble 
to  and  fro,  longing,  hoping,  looking  for  the  wray  to  go, 
yet  never  finding  it,  for  I  have  no  mother  to  take  me 
in  her  arms  and  show  me  God." 

With  the  last  words  Sylvia's  voice  broke,  and  she 
spread  her  hands  before  her  face ;  not  weeping,  but 
overcome  by  an  emotion  too  deep  for  tears. 

Moor  had  seen  many  forms  of  sorrow,  but  never 
one  that  touched  him  more  than  this  motherless  girl 
hiding  a  spiritual  sorrow  on  the  bosom  of  a  rock. 
Sylvia  had  ceased  to  seem  a  child,  and  this  was  no 
childish  grief  to  be  comforted  with  a  kind  word.  She 
was  a  woman  to  him,  dearer  and  deeper-hearted  than 
she  knew,  yet  he  would  not  take  advantage  of  this 
tender  moment  and  offer  her  a  human  love  when  she 
asked  for  the  divine.  His  own  religion  was  that 


SERMONS.  153 

simplest,  perhaps  truest  type,  which  is  lived,  not 
spoken ;  an  inborn  love  of  godliness,  a  natural  faith, 
unquestioning,  unshakable  by  the  trials  and  tempta 
tions  of  life.  But  this  piety,  though  all  pervading  and 
all  sustaining  as  the  air,  was  as  hard  to  grasp  and  give 
to  another.  It  was  no  easy  task  for  one  humble  in 
his  own  conceit,  a  young  man  and  a  lover,  to  answer 
such  an  appeal,  the  harder  for  the  unspoken  confidence 
in  him  which  it  confessed.  A  wise  book  lay  upon  his 
knee,  a  good  book  had  slipped  to  Sylvia's  feet,  and, 
glancing  about  him  for  inspiration  in  that  eloquent 
pause,  he  found  it  there.  Never  had  his  voice  sounded 
so  sweet  and  comfortable  as  now. 

"  Dear  Sylvia,  I  understand  your  trouble  and  long 
to  cure  it  as  wisely  and  tenderly  as  I  ought.  I  can 
only  tell  you  where  I  have  found  a  cure  for  doubt, 
despondency,  and  grief.  God  and  Nature  are  the  true 
helper  and  comforter  for  all  of  us.  Do  not  tire  your 
self  with  books,  creeds,  and  speculations;  let  them 
wait,  and  believe  that  simply  wishing  and  trying  to 
be  good  is  piety,  for  faith  and  endeavor  are  the  wings 
that  carry  souls  to  heaven.  Take  Nature  for  your 
friend  and  teacher.  You  love  and  feel  near  to  her  al 
ready  ;  you  will  find  her  always  just  and  genial,  patient 
and  wise.  Watch  the  harmonious  laws  that  rule  her, 
imitate  her  industry,  her  sweet  sanity ;  and  soon  I 
think  you  will  find  that  this  benignant  mother  will 
take  you  in  her  arms  and  show  you  God." 

Without  another  word  Moor  rose,  laid  his  hand  an 
instant  on  the  girl's  bent  head  in  the  first  caress  he 


154  MOODS. 

had  ever  dared  to  give  her,  and  went  away  leaving  her 
to  the  soothing  ministrations  of  the  comforter  he  had 
suggested. 

When  they  all  met  at  supper  Sylvia's  face  was  as 
serene  and  lovely  as  the  sky  "clear  shining  after 
rain,"  though  she  said  little  and  seemed  shy  of  her 
older  comrades ;  both  of  whom  were  unusually 
thoughtful  of  her,  as  if  they  felt  some  fear  that  in 
handling  this  young  soul  they  might  have  harmed  it, 
as  even  the  most  careful  touch  destroys  the  delicate 
down  on  the  wing  of  the  butterfly,  that  is  its  symbol. 

They  embarked  at  sunset,  as  the  tide  against  which 
they  had  pulled  in  coming  up  would  soon  sweep  them 
rapidly  along  and  make  it  easy  to  retrace  in  a  few 
hours  the  way  they  had  loitered  over  for  days. 

All  night  Sylvia  lay  under  the  canopy  of  boughs 
Moor  made  to  shield  her  from  the  dew,  listening  to 
the  soft  sounds  about  her ;  the  twitter  of  a  restless 
bird,  the  bleat  of  some  belated  lamb,  the  ripple  of  a 
brook  babbling  like  a  baby  in  its  sleep,  the  fitful 
murmur  of  voices  mingling  with  the  plash  of  water 
as  sail  or  oar  drove  them  on.  All  night  she  watched 
the  changing  shores,  silvery  green  or  dark  with  slum 
berous  shadow,  and  followed  the  moon  in  its  tranquil 
journey  through  the  sky.  When  it  set,  she  drew  her 
cloak  about  her,  and,  pillowing  her  head  upon  the 
sweet  fern  Warwick  piled  for  her,  exchanged  the 
waking  for  a  sleeping  dream  as  beautiful  and  happy. 

A  thick  mist  encompassed  her  when  she  awoke. 
Above  the  sun  shone  dimly,  below  rose  and  fell  the 


SERMONS.  155 

unquiet  tide,  before  her  sounded  the  city's  hum,  and 
far  behind  lay  the  green  wilderness  where  she  had 
lived  and  learned  so  much.  Slowly  the  fog  lifted,  the 
sun  came  dazzling  down  upon  the  sea,  and  out  into 
the  open  bay  they  sailed  with  the  blue  pennon  stream 
ing  in  the  morning  wind.  But  still  with  backward 
gaze  the  girl  watched  the  misty  wall  that  lay  between 
her  and  that  charmed  river,  and  still  with  wondering 
heart  confessed  how  sweet  that  brief  experience  had 
been  ;  for,  though  she  had  not  yet  discovered  it,  like 
the  fairy  Lady  of  Shalott, 

"  She  had  left  the  web  and  left  the  loom, 
Had  seen  the  water-lilies  bloom, 
Had  seen  the  helmet  and  the  plume, 
And  had  looked  down  to  Camelot." 


156  MOODS. 

CHAPTER   IX. 

WHY   SYLVIA  WAS  .HAPPY. 

"  T  NEVER  did  understand  you,  Sylvia ;  and  this 
-*-  last  month  you  have  been  a  perfect  enigma 
to  me." 

With  rocking-chair  in  full  action,  suspended  needle, 
and  thoughtful  expression,  Miss  Yule  had  watched 
her  sister  for  ten  minutes  as  she  sat  with  her  work  at 
her  feet,  her  hands  folded  on  her  lap,  and  her  eyes 
dreamily  fixed  on  vacancy. 

"  I  always  was  to  myself,  Prue,  and  am  more  so 
than  ever  now,"  answered  Sylvia,  waking  out  of  her 
reverie  with  a  smile  that  proved  it  had  been  a  pleas 
ant  one. 

"  There  must  be  some  reason  _for  this  great  change 
in  you.  Come,  tell  me,  dear." 

With  a  motherly  gesture  Miss  Yule  drew  the  girl 
to  her  knee,  brushed  back  the  bright  hair,  and  looked 
into  the  face  so  freely  turned  to  hers.  Through  all 
the  years  they  had  been  together,  the  elder  sister  had 
never  seen  before  the  expression  which  the  younger's 
face  now  wore.  A  vague  expectancy  sat  in  her  eyes, 
some  nameless  content  sweetened  her  smile,  a  beau 
tiful  repose  replaced  the  varying  enthusiasm,  list- 
lessness,  and  melancholy  that  used  to  haunt  her 


WHY  SYLVIA    WAS  HAPPY.  157 

countenance  and  make  it  such  a  study.  Miss  Yule 
could  not  read  the  secret  of  the  change,  yet  felt  its 
novel  charm ;  Sylvia  could  not  explain  it,  though 
penetrated  by  its  power :  and  for  a  moment  the  sisters 
looked  into  each  other's  faces,  wondering  why  each 
seemed  altered.  Then  Prue,  who  never  wasted  much 
time  in  speculations  of  any  kind,  shook  her  head,  and 
repeated,  — 

"  I  don't  understand  it,  but  it  must  be  right,  because 
you  are  so  improved  in  every  way.  Ever  since  that 
wild  trip  up  the  river  you  have  been  growing  quiet, 
lovable,  and  cheerful,  and  I  really  begin  to  hope  that 
you  will  become  like  other  people." 

"  I  only  know  that  I  am  happy,  Prue.  Why  it  is 
so  I  cannot  tell ;  but  now  I  seldom  have  the  old  dis 
satisfied  and  restless  feeling.  Everything  looks  pleas 
ant  to  me,  every  one  seems  kind,  and  life  begins  to  be 
both  sweet  and  earnest.  It  is  only  one  of  my  moods, 
I  suppose  ;  but  I  am  grateful  for  it,  and  pray  that  it 
may  last." 

So  earnestly  she  spoke,  so  cheerfully  she  smiled, 
that  Miss  Yule  blessed  the  mood  and  echoed  Sylvia's 
wish,  exclaiming  in  the  next  breath,  with  a  sudden 
inspiration,  — 

"  My  dear,  I  've  got  it !     You  are  growing  up." 

"  I  think  I  am.  You  tried  to  make  a  woman  of  me 
at  sixteen,  but  it  was  impossible  until  the  right  time 
came.  That  wild  trip  up  the  river,  as  you  call  it,  did 
more  for  me  than  I  can  ever  tell,  and  when  I  seemed 
most  like  a  child  I  was  learning  to  be  a  woman." 


158  MOODS. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  go  on  as  you  Ve  begun,  and  I  shall 
be  more  than  satisfied.  What  merry-making  is  on 
foot  to-night  ?  Max  and  these  friends  of  his  keep 
you  in  constant  motion  with  their  riding,  rowing,  and 
rambling  excursions,  and  if  it  did  not  agree  with  you 
so  excellently,  I  really  should  like  a  little  quiet  alter 
a  month  of  bustle." 

"  They  are  only  coming  up  as  usual,  and  that  re 
minds  me  that  I  must  go  and  dress." 

"  There  is  another  new  change,  Sylvia.  You  never 
used  to  care  what  you  wore  or  how  you  looked,  no 
matter  how  much  time  and  trouble  I  expended  on  you 
and  your  wardrobe.  Now  you  do  care,  and  it  does 
my  heart  good  to  see  you  always  charmingly  dressed, 
and  looking  your  prettiest,"  said  Miss  Yule,  with  the 
satisfaction  of  a  woman  who  heartily  believed  in  cos 
tume  as  well  as  all  the  other  elegances  and  proprie 
ties  of  fashionable  life. 

"  Am  I  ever  that,  Prue  ?  "  asked  Sylvia,  pausing  on 
the  threshold  with  a  shy  yet  wistful  glance. 

"  Ever  what,  dear  ? " 

"  Pretty  ? " 

"  Always  so  to  me ;  and  now  I  think  every  one 
finds  you  very  attractive  because  you  try  to  please, 
and  seem  to  succeed  delightfully." 

Sylvia  had  never  asked  that  question  before,  had 
never  seemed  to  know  or  care,  and  could  not  have 
chosen  a  more  auspicious  moment  for  her  frank  in 
quiry  than  the  present.  The  answer  seemed  to  satisfy 
her,  and,  smiling  at  some  blithe  anticipation  of  her 


WHY  SYLVIA    WAS  HAPPY.  159 

own,  she  went  away  to  make  a  lampless  toilet  in  the 
dusk,  which  proved  how  slight  a  hold  the  feminine 
passion  for  making  one's  self  pretty  had  yet  taken 
upon  her. 

The  September  moon  was  up  and  shining  clearly 
over  garden,  lawn,  and  sea,  when  the  sound  of  voices 
called  her  down.  At  the  stair-foot  she  paused  with 
a  disappointed  air,  for  only  one  hat  lay  on  the  hall 
table,  and  a  glance  showed  her  only  one  guest  with 
Max  and  Prue.  She  strolled  irresolutely  through  the 
breezy  hall,  looked  out  at  either  open  door,  sung  a 
little  to  herself,  but  broke  off  in  the  middle  of  a  line, 
and,  as  if  following  a  sudden  impulse,  went  out  into 
the  mellow  moonlight,  forgetful  of  uncovered  head  or 
dewy  damage  to  the  white  hem  of  her  gown.  Half 
way  down  the  avenue  she  paused  before  a  shady 
nook,  and  looked  in.  The  evergreens  that  enclosed  it 
made  the  seat  doubly  dark  to  eyes  inured  to  the  outer 
light,  and,  seeing  a  familiar  seeming  figure  sitting  with 
its  head  upon  its  hand,  Sylvia  leaned  in,  saying,  with 
a  daughterly  caress,  — 

"  Why,  what  is  my  romantic  father  doing  here  ?" 

The  sense  of  touch  was  quicker  than  that  of  sight, 
aad  with  an  exclamation  of  surprise  she  had  drawn 
back  before  Warwick  replied,  — 

"  It  is  not  the  old  man,  but  the  young  one,  who  is 
romancing  here." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon !  We  have  been  waiting  for 
you ;  what  were  you  thinking  of  that  you  forgot  us 
all?" 


160  MOODS. 

Sylvia  was  a  little  startled,  else  she  would  scarcely 
have  asked  so  plain  a  question.  But  Warwick  often 
asked  much  blunter  ones,  always  told  the  naked  truth 
without  prevarication  or  delay,  and  straightway  an 
swered,  — 

"  The  sweetest  woman  I  ever  met,"  then  checked 
himself  and  said  more  quietly,  as  if  to  turn  the  con 
versation,  "  This  moonlight  recalls  our  voyage  up  the 
river  and  our  various  adventures." 

"  Ah,  that  happy  voyage  !  I  wish  it  had  been 
longer,"  answered  Sylvia  in  a  tone  of  such  intense  re 
gret  it  was  plain  she  had  forgotten  nothing.  "  It  is 
too  lovely  to  go  in  just  yet ;  come  and  walk,  and  talk 
a  little  of  that  pleasant  time." 

She  beckoned  as  she  spoke,  and  he  came  out  of  the 
shadow  wearing  a  look  she  had  never  seen  before. 
His  face  was  flushed,  his  eye  unquiet,  his  manner 
eager  yet  restrained.  She  had  seen  him  intellectually 
excited,  but  never  emotionally  till  now.  Something 
wayward  yet  warm  in  this  new  mood  attracted  her 
because  so  like  her  own.  But  with  a  tact  as  native 
as  her  sympathy,  she  showed  no  sign  of  observing 
this  change,  and,  fancying  some  memory  or  care  op 
pressed  him,  tried  to  cheer  him  by  speaking  of  the 
holiday  he  had  recalled. 

"  What  did  you  enjoy  most  in  those  four  days  ? " 
she  asked,  as  they  paced  slowly  up  the  avenue  side  by 
side. 

He  longed  to  answer  "  Our  walk  together,"  for  that 
little  journey  hand  in  hand  seemed  very  precious  to 


WHY  SYLVIA    WAS  HAPPY.  161 

him  now,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  he  refrained  from 
telling  her  how  beautiful  it  would  be  to  have  that 
slender  figure  always  walking  with  him  on  the  longer 
pilgrimage  which  of  late  looked  lonely  and  uninvit 
ing.  Bat  he  folded  his  arms,  averted  his  eyes,  and 
said  briefly, — 

"  All  was  pleasant ;  perhaps  the  Golden  Wedding 
most  so." 

"  Yes,  that  did  me  so  much  good.  I  never  shall 
forget  it.  I  think  that  voyage  was  the  happiest  time 
I  ever  knew.  I  seemed  to  learn  more  in  those  few 
days  than  in  years  at  home,  and  all  my  lessons  were 
helpful  ones,  for  which  I  shall  be  better  and  happier, 
I  am  sure." 

She  spoke  earnestly,  still  looking  up,  and  the  moon 
light  showed  how  grateful,  how  perilously  sweet  and 
candid,  the  young  face  was.  Warwick  saw  it  with  a 
quick  glance,  and  said  within  himself,  "  I  too  learned 
a  lesson  ;  better  I  may  be,  but  not  happier."  Then 
aloud,  and  with  a  laugh  that  did  not  ring  quite  true,  — 

"  I  see  my  sermon  was  laid  to  heart,  harsh  as  it 
seemed  when  preached.  Some  of  the  melancholy 
moods  were  left  behind,  I  think,  and  brighter  ones 
brought  home,  if  we  may  judge  from  the  metamor 
phosis  of  the  dripping  Undine  I  first  met  to  the  happy 
girl  who  now  makes  sunshine  for  us  all." 

"  Yes  ;  I  feel  as  if  I  found  my  soul  there  in  the 
woods,  and  learned  how  to  keep  it  in  better  order  than 
when  I  half  longed  to  have  the  sea  rid  me  of  the  care 
of  such  a  restless,  troublesome  guest." 

11 


162  MOODS. 

"  You  found  a  soul,  and  I  lost  a  heart,"  thought 
Warwick,  still  carrying  on  that  double  conversation ; 
for  even  love  could  not  subdue  the  sense  of  humor 
which  made  much  sentiment  impossible.  Aloud  he 
added,  more  genially,  — 

"  I  often  make  these  excursions  into  the  wilderness 
when  civilization  tires  or  troubles  me,  and  always  find 
medicine  for  my  impatient  spirit  in  the  quiet,  free 
dom,  and  good  company  waiting  for  me  there.  Try 
it  again  when  other  things  fail,  and  so  keep  serene  and 
happy  as  now." 

"  I  will.  Mr.  Moor  told  me  the  same,  and  I  like 
the  prescription,  for  the  desire  of  my  life  is  to  be  as 
sunshiny,  wise,  and  excellent  as  he  is." 

"  You  could  not  have  a  better  model  or  set  your  life 
to  finer  music  than  he  does.  Have  you  ever  read  his 
poetry  ? " 

Warwick  spoke  heartily  now,  and  seemed  glad  to 
slip  away  from  a  subject  too  interesting  to  be  quite 
safe  for  him. 

"  No.  Max  said  he  wrote,  and  I  hope  I  shall  see  it 
some  time  wrhen  he  thinks  I  am  worthy  of  the  honor. 
Do  you  make  poems  also  ? "  asked  Sylvia,  as  if  any 
feat  were  possible  to  this  new  friend  of  hers. 

"  Never !  An  essay  now  and  then,  but  pen  work  is 
not  in  my  line.  First  live,  then  write.  I  have  not 
time  to  let  fancy  play,  when  hard  facts  keep  me  busy." 

"  When  you  do  write,  I  think  it  will  be  very  inter 
esting  to  read  what  you  have  lived.  Max  says  you 
have  been  visiting  prisons  all  over  the  world,  and  try- 


WHY  SYLVIA    WAS  HAPPY.  163 

ing  to  make  them  better.  That  is  a  brave,  good  thing 
to  do.  I  wish  I  were  old  and  wise  enough  to  help," 
said  Sylvia, 'with  such  respect  and  admiration  in  face 
and  voice  that  Warwick  found  it  impossible  to  re 
strain  a  fervent  — 

"  I  wish  you  were  ! "  adding  more  calmly,  "  I  love 
liberty  so  much  myself,  that  my  sympathy  naturally 
turns  to  those  deprived  of  it.  Yet  the  saddest  pris 
oners  I  find  are  not  in  cells,  and  they  are  the  hardest 
to  help." 

"  You  mean  those  bound  by  sins  and  sorrows,  tem 
peraments  and  temptations  ? " 

"  Yes,  and  another  class  tied  by  prejudices,  creeds, 
and  customs.  Even  duties  and  principles  make  slaves 
of  us  sometimes,  and  we  find  the  captivity  very  hard 
to  bear." 

"  I  cannot  imagine  you  bound  by  anything.  I 
often  envy  you  your  splendid  freedom." 

"  I  am  bound  this  moment  by  honor,  and  I  long  to 
break  loose  ! " 

The  words  broke  from  Adam  against  his  will,  and 
startled  Sylvia  by  their  passionate  energy. 

"  Can  I  help  you  ?  The  mouse  helped  the  lion,  you 
remember  ? " 

She  spoke  without  fear,  for  with  Warwick  she  al 
ways  felt  the  sort  of  freedom  one  feels  with  those  who 
are  entirely  sincere  and  natural,  sure  of  being  under 
stood,  and  one's  sympathy  received  as  frankly  as  it  is 
offered. 

"  Dear  mouse,  you  cannot  I     This  net  is  too  strong, 


164  MOODS. 

and  the  lion  must  stay  bound  till  time  or  a  happy  for 
tune  sets  him  free.  Let  us  go  in." 

The  sudden  change  from  the  almost  tender  grati 
tude  of  the  first  words  to  the  stern  brevity  of  the  last 
ones  perplexed  Sylvia  more  than  any  of  the  varying 
moods  she  had  seen  that  night,  and  with  a  sudden 
sense  of  some  dangerous  electricity  in  the  mental  at 
mosphere,  she  hastened  up  the  steps  before  which 
Warwick  had  abruptly  halted. 

Pausing  on  the  upper  stair  to  gather  a  day-lily  from 
the  urn  that  stood  there,  she  looked  back  an  instant 
before  she  vanished,  and  he  seemed  to  see  again  the 
Juliet  he  so  well  remembered  leaning  to  her  lover 
bathed  in  the  magic  moonlight  of  the  wood. 

"That  did  the  mischief;  till  then  I  thought  her  a 
child.  The  romance  of  that  scene  took  me  unawares, 
and  all  that  followed  helped  the  sweet  poison  work. 
A  midsummer  night's  dream  which  I  shall  not  soon 
forget." 

With  a  long  breath  of  the  cool  air,  an  impatient 
sigh  at  his  own  weakness,  and  a  half- angry  tug  at  his 
brown  beard,  Warwick  went  to  the  drawing-room 
looking  very  like  the  captive  lion  Sylvia  had  spoken 
of. 

She  was  not  there,  and  he  fell  upon  the  first  trifling 
task  he  found,  as  if  "  in  work  was  salvation,  in  idleness 
alone  perpetual  despair." 

Sylvia  soon  appeared  with  the  basket  of  Berlin 
wools  she  had  promised  to  wind  for  her  sister. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  give  yourself  such 


WHY  SYLVIA    WAS  HAPPY.  165 

an  uplifted  expression?"  said  Max,  as  she  came 
in. 

"  Feasting  my  eyes  on  lovely  colors.  Does  not  that 
look  like  a  folded  rainbow  ? "  she  answered,  laying  her 
brilliant  burden  on  the  table  where  Warwick  sat 
examining  a  broken  reel,  and  Pme  was  absorbed  in 
getting  a  carriage  blanket  under  way. 

"  Come,  Sylvia,  I  shall  soon  be  ready  for  the  first 
shade,"  she  said,  clashing  her  formidable  needles.  "  Is 
that  past  mending,  Mr.  Warwick  ?  " 

"  Yes,  without  better  tools  than  a  knife,  two  pins, 
and  a  bodkin." 

"  Then  you  must  put  the  skeins  on  a  chair,  Sylvia. 
Try  not  to  tangle  them,  and  spread  your  handkerchief 
in  your  lap,  for  that  maroon  shade  will  stain  sadly. 
Now  don't  speak  to  rne,  for  I  must  count  my  stitches." 

Sylvia  began  to  wind  the  wools  with  a  swift  dexter 
ity  as  natural  to  her  hands  as  certain  little  graces  of 
gesture  which  made  their  motions  pleasant  to  watch. 
Warwick  never  rummaged  work-baskets,  gossiped, 
or  paid  compliments  for  want  of  something  to  do.  If 
no  little  task  appeared  for  them,  he  kept  his  hands 
out  of  mischief,  and  if  nothing  occurred  to  make  words 
agreeable  or  necessary,  he  proved  that  he  understood 
the  art  of  silence,  and  sat  with  those  vigilant  eyes  of 
his  fixed  upon  whatever  object  attracted  them.  Just 
then  the  object  was  a  bright  band  slipping  round  the 
chair- back,  with  a  rapidity  that  soon  produced  a  snarl, 
l5ut  no  help  till  patient  fingers  had  smoothed  and 
wound  it  up.  Then,  with  the  look  of  one  who  says 


166  MOODS. 

to  himself,  "  I  will ! "  he  turned,  planted  himself 
squarely  before  Sylvia,  and  held  out  his  hands. 

"  Here  is  a  reel  that  will  neither  tangle  nor  break 
your  skeins ;  will  you  use  it  ? " 

"  Yes,  thank  you,  and  in  return  I  '11  wind  your  color 
first." 

"  Which  is  my  color  ? " 

"  This  fine  scarlet,  strong,  enduring,  and  martial, 
like  yourself." 

"You  are  right." 

"  I  thought  so ;  Mr.  Moor  prefers  blue,  and  I  violet." 

"  Blue  and  red  make  violet,"  called  Max  from  his 
corner,  catching  the  word  "  color,"  though  busy  with 
a  sketch  for  Jessie  Hope. 

Moor  was  with  Mr.  Yule  in  his  study,  Prue  men 
tally  wrapped  in  her  blanket,  and  when  Sylvia  was 
drawn  into  an  artistic  controversy  with  her  brother, 
Warwick  fell  into  deep  thought. 

He  had  learned  many  lessons  in  his  adventurous 
life,  and  learned  them  well,  but  never  the  one  that 
now  had  in  truth  taken  him  unaware,  roused  a  pas 
sion  stronger  than  his  own  strong  will,  and  in  a 
month  taught  him  the  mystery  and  the  might  of  love. 

He  tried  to  disbelieve  and  silence  it ;  attacked  it 
with  reason,  starved  it  with  neglect,  and  chilled  it 
with  contempt.  But  when  he  fancied  it  was  dead, 
the  longing  rose  again,  and,  with  a  clamorous  cry,  un 
did  his  work.  For  the  first  time  this  free  spirit  felt 
the  master's  hand,  confessed  a  need  its  own  power 
could  not  supply,  and  saw  that  no  man  can  live  alone, 


WHY  SYLVIA    WAS  HAPPY.  167 

on  even  the  highest  aspirations,  without  suffering  for 
the  vital  warmth  of  the  affections.  A  month  ago  he 
would  have  disdained  the  sentiment  that  now  was  so 
dear  to  him.  But  imperceptibly  the  influences  of  do 
mestic  life  had  tamed  and  won  him.  Solitude  looked 
barren,  vagrancy  had  lost  its  charm ;  his  life  seemed 
cold  and  bare,  for,  though  devoted  to  noble  aims,  it 
was  wanting  in  the  social  sacrifices,  cares,  and  joys 
that  foster  charity  and  sweeten  character.  An  impet 
uous  desire  to  enjoy  the  rich  experience  which  did  so 
much  for  others  came  over  him  to-night  as  it  had 
often  done  while  sharing  the  delights  of  this  home, 
where  he  had  made  so  long  a  pause.  But  with  the 
desire  came  a  memory  that  restrained  him  better  than 
his  promise.  He  saw  what  others  had  not  yet  dis 
covered,  and,  obeying  the  code  of  honor  which  governs 
the  true  gentleman,  loved  his  friend  better  than  him 
self,  and  held  his  peace. 

The  last  skein  came,  and  as  she  wound  it,  Sylvia's 
glance  involuntarily  rose  from  the  strong  hands  to  the 
face  above  them,  and  lingered  there,  for  the  penetrat 
ing  gaze  was  averted,  and  an  unwonted  mildness  in 
spired  confidence  as  its  usual  expression  of  power 
commanded  respect.  His  silence  troubled  her,  and 
with  curious  yet  respectful  scrutiny,  she  studied  his 
face  as  she  had  never  done  before.  She  found  it  full 
of  a  noble  gravity  and  kindliness ;  candor  and  courage 
spoke  in  the  lines  of  the  mouth,  benevolence  and 
intellect  in  the  broad  arch  of  the  forehead,  ardor  and 
energy  in  the  fire  of  the  eye,  and  on  every  lineament 


168  MOODS. 

the  stamp  of  that  genuine  manhood  which  no  art  can 
counterfeit.  Intent  upon  discovering  the  secret  of  the 
mastery  he  exerted  over  all  who  approached  him, 
Sylvia  had  quite  forgotten  herself,  when  suddenly 
Warwick's  eyes  were  fixed  full  upon  her  own.  What 
spell  lay  in  them  she  could  not  tell,  for  human  eye 
had  never  shed  such  sudden  summer  over  her.  Ad 
miration  was  not  in  it,  for  it  did  not  agitate ;  nor 
audacity,  for  it  did  not  abash ;  but  something  that 
thrilled  warm  through  blood  and  nerves,  that  tilled 
her  with  a  glad  submission  to  some  power,  absolute 
yet  tender,  and  caused  her  to  turn  her  innocent  face 
freely  to  his  gaze,  letting  him  read  therein  a  sentiment 
for  which  she  had  not  yet  found  a  name. 

It  lasted  but  a  moment ;  yet  in  that  moment  each 
saw  the  other's  heart,  and  each  turned  a  new  page  in 
the  romance  of  their  lives.  Sylvia's  eyes  fell  first, 
but  no  blush  followed,  no  sign  of  anger  or  perplexity, 
only  a  thoughtful  silence,  which  continued  till  the 
last  violet  thread  dropped  from  his  hands,  and  she 
said  almost  regretfully,  — 

"  This  is  the  end." 

"  Yes,  this  is  the  end." 

As  he  echoed  the  words  Warwick  rose  suddenly 
and  went  to  talk  with  Max,  whose  sketch  was  done. 
Sylvia  sat  a  moment  as  if  quite  forgetful  where  she 
was,  so  absorbing  was  some  thought  or  emotion. 
Presently  she  seemed  to  glow  and  kindle  with  an 
inward  fire ;  over  face  and  forehead  rushed  an  impet 
uous  color,  her  eyes  shone,  and  her  lips  trembled  with 


WHY  SYLVIA    WAS  HAPPY.  169 

the  fluttering  of  her  breath.  Then  a  panic  appeared 
to  seize  her,  for,  stealing  noiselessly  away,  she  hurried 
to  her  room,  and  covering  up  her  face  as  if  to  hide 
it  even  from  herself,  whispered  to  that  full  heart  of 
hers,  — 

"  Now  I  know  why  I  am  happy  ! " 

How  long  she  lay  there  musing  in  the  moonlight 
she  never  knew.  Her  sister's  call  broke  in  upon  the 
first  love  dream  she  had  ever  woven  for  herself,  and 
she  went  down  to  bid  the  friends  good-night.  The 
hall  was  only  lighted  by  the  moon,  and  in  the  dim 
ness  no  one  saw  traces  of  that  midsummer  shower  on 
her  cheeks,  nor  detected  the  soft  trouble  in  her  eyes, 
but  for  the  first  time  Moor  felt  her  hand  tremble  in 
his  own,  and  welcomed  the  good  omen  joyfully. 

Hating  all  forms,  Warwick  seldom  shook  hands,  but 
that  night  he  gave  a  hand  to  all  with  his  most  cordial 
expression,  and  Sylvia  felt  both  her  own  taken  in 
a  warm  lingering  grasp,  although  he  only  said, 
"  Good-by  ! "  Then  they  went ;  but  while  the  others 
paused  on  the  steps,  held  by  the  beauty  of  the  night, 
back  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  came  Warwick's 
sonorous  voice  singing  the  song  that  Sylvia  best 
loved.  All  down  the  avenue  and  far  along  the  wind 
ing  road  they  traced  his  progress,  till  the  music  died 
in  the  distance,  leaving  only  the  echo  of  the  song  to 
link  them  to  the  singer. 

When  evening  came  again  the  girl  waited  on  the 
lawn  to  greet  the  friends,  for  love  made  her  very  shy. 
But  Moor  came  alone,  and  his  first  words  were,  — 


170  MOODS. 

"  Console  me,  Sylvia,  Adam  is  gone.  He  went  as 
unexpectedly  as  he  came,  and  when  I  woke  this  morn 
ing  a  note  was  all  the  farewell  I  found." 

Pride  kept  her  from  betraying  the  sharp  pang  this 
disappointment  cost  her,  and  all  that  evening  she 
seemed  her  gayest  self,  supported  by  an  unnatural 
excitement  till  alone. 

Then  the  reaction  came,  and  Sylvia  spent  the  night 
struggling  with  doubt,  despair,  shame,  and  bewilder 
ment.  She  had  deceived  herself.  It  was  not  love 
she  saw  in  Adam's  eyes  last  night,  but  pity.  He  read 
her  secret  before  that  compassionate  glance  revealed 
it  to  herself,  and  had  gone  away  to  spare  her  further 
folly.  She  was  not  the  woman  of  whom  he  thought, 
forgetful  of  time  and  place,  of  whom  he  spoke  with 
such  a  kindling  face,  to  whom  he  had  gone  so  eagerly 
when  absence  grew  unbearable. 

All  night  she  tortured  herself  with  this  idea,  but  in 
the  morning  hope  came,  always  the  first  consoler  of 
the  young,  whispering  that  she  had  read  that  look 
aright,  that  some  promise  bound  him  which  he  had 
gone  to  be  released  from,  and  when  free  he  would 
write  or  come  to  her.  To  this  hope  she  clung,  saying 
to  herself, — 

"  He  is  so  true,  I  will  trust  and  wait." 

But  days  grew  to  weeks,  and  Warwick  neither 
wrote  nor  came. 


NO.  171 


CHAPTER  X. 


NO. 


"ATOVEMBEK,  the  dreariest  month  of  all  the  year, 
-^-^  had  come ;  leaves  lay  sear  and  sodden  on  the 
frosty  ground,  and  a  chill  rain  dripped  without  as  if 
joining  in  the  lamentation  of  the  melancholy  wind. 

Winter  fires  were  kindled,  and  basking  in  the  full 
glow  of  one  of  these  lay  Sylvia,  coiled  up  in  a  deep 
chair,  solacing  her  weariness  with  recollections  of  the 
happiest  summer  of  her  life. 

As  books  open  at  pages  oftenest  read,  she  had  been 
reliving  that  memorable  voyage,  the  brightest  hours 
of  which  were  those  spent  with  Warwick,  guarding 
these  as  tenderly  as  patient  Elaine  guarded  the  shield, 
waiting  for  Launcelot  to  come  again. 

So  vividly  did  those  days  return  to  her,  that  Sylvia 
forgot  the  pain  of  suspense,  the  thorn  of  regret,  and 
was  far  away  ;  so  strong  was  the  power  of  Adam's  in 
fluence  upon  her  even  in  absence,  that  he  seemed  to 
be  before  her ;  so  intense  was  her  longing  to  feel  again 
the  touch  of  his  hand,  that  like  one  in  a  dream  she 
stretched  her  own  toward  the  vision,  whispering,  half 
aloud,  — 

"  Come ! " 

"  I  am  here." 


172  MOODS. 

A  voice  answered,  a  hand  took  hers,  and  starting 
up  she  saw  Moor  looking  down  at  her.  Hastening  to 
compose  herself,  she  smiled  and  leaned  back  in  her 
chair,  saying  quietly,  — 

"  I  am  glad  you  came,  for  I  have  built  castles  in 
the  air  long  enough,  and  you  will  give  me  more  sub 
stantial  entertainment,  as  you  always  do." 

The  broken  dream  had  left  tokens  of  its  presence 
in  the  unwonted  warmth  of  Sylvia's  manner;  Moor 
felt  it,  and  for  a  moment  did  not  answer.  Much  of 
her  former  shyness  had  crept  over  her  of  late  ;  she 
sometimes  shunned  him,  was  less  free  in  conversation, 
less  frank  in  demonstration,  and  once  or  twice  had  col 
ored  deeply  as  she  caught  his  eye  upon  her.  These 
betrayals  of  Warwick's  image  in  her  thoughts  seemed 
to  Moor  the  happy  omens  he  had  waited  eagerly  to 
see,  and  each  day  his  hope  grew  more  assured.  He 
had  watched  her  unseen  while  she  was  busied  with 
her  mental  pastime,  and  as  he  looked,  his  heart  had 
grown  unspeakably  tender,  for  never  had  her  power 
over  him  been  so  fully  felt,  and  never  had  he  so  longed 
to  claim  her  in  the  name  of  his  exceeding  love.  A 
pleasant  peace  reigned  through  the  house,  the  girl  sat 
waiting  at  his  side,  the  moment  looked  auspicious, 
the  desire  grew  irresistible,  and  he  yielded  to  it. 

"  You  are  thinking  of  something  new  and  pleasant 
to  tell  me,  I  hope,  —  something  in  keeping  with  this 
quiet  place  and  hour  ? "  said  Sylvia,  glancing  up  at 
him  with  the  traitorous  softness  still  in  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,  and  hoping  you  would  like  it." 


NO.  173 

"  Then  I  have  never  heard  it  before  ? " 

"  Never  from  me." 

"  Go  on,  please  ;  I  am  ready." 

She  folded  her  hands  together  on  her  knee,  turned 
her  face  attentively  to  his,  and  unwittingly  composed 
herself  to  listen  to  the  sweet  story  so  often  told,  and 
yet  so  hard  to  tell.  Moor  meant  to  woo  her  very 
gently,  for  he  believed  that  love  was  new  to  her.  He 
had  planned  many  graceful  illustrations  for  his  tale, 
and  rounded  many  smoothly  flowing  sentences  in 
which  to  unfold  it.  But  the  emotions  are  not  \v7ell 
bred,  and  when  the  moment  came,  nature  conquered 
art.  No  demonstration  seemed  beautiful  enough  to 
grace  the  betrayal  of  his  passion,  no  language  elo 
quent  enough  to  tell  it,  no  power  strong  enough  to 
hold  in  check  the  impulse  that  mastered  him.  He 
went  to  her,  knelt  down  upon  the  cushion  at  her  feet, 
and,  lifting  to  her  a  face  flushed  and  fervent  with  the 
ardor  of  a  man's  first  love,  said  impetuously,  — 

"  Sylvia,  read  it  here  !  " 

There  was  no  need  for  her  to  look  ;  act,  touch,  and 
tone  told  the  story  better  than  the  most  impassioned 
speech.  The  supplication  of  his  attitude,  the  eager 
beating  of  his  heart,  the  tender  pressure  of  his  hand, 
dispelled  her  blindness  in  the  drawing  of  a  breath, 
and  showed  her  what  she  had  done.  Now  neglected 
warnings,  selfish  forgetfulness,  and  the  knowledge  of 
an  unconscious,  but  irremediable  wrens?  frightened 

o  O 

and  bewildered  her  ;  she   hid   her  face,  and   shrunk 
back  trembling  with  remorse  and  shame.     Moor,  see- 


174  MOODS. 

ing  in  her  agitation  only  maiden  happiness  or  hesi 
tancy,  accepted  and  enjoyed  a  blissful  moment  while 
he  waited  her  reply.  It  was  so  long  in  coming  that 
he  gently  tried  to  draw  her  hands  away  and  look  into 
her  face,  whispering  like  one  scarcely  doubtful  of 
assent,  — 

"  You  love  me,  Sylvia  ?  " 

"  No." 

Only  half  audible  was  the  reluctant  answer,  yet  he 
heard  it,  smiled  at  what  he  fancied  a  shy  falsehood, 
and  said  tenderly, — 

"  Will  you  let  me  love  you,  dear  ?  " 

"No." 

Fainter  than  before  was  the  one  word,  but  it  reached 
and  startled  him.  Hurriedly  he  asked,  — 

"  Am  I  nothing  to  you  but  a  friend  ? " 

"  No." 

"With  a  quick  gesture  he  put  down  her  hands  and 
looked  at  her.  Grief,  regret,  and  pity  filled  her  face 
with  trouble,  but  no  love  was  there.  He  saw,  yet 
would  not  believe  the  truth,  —  felt  that  the  sweet  cer 
tainty  of  love  had  gone,  yet  could  not  relinquish  the 
fond  hope. 

"  Sylvia,  do  you  understand  me  ? " 

"  I  do,  I  do !  but  I  cannot  say  what  you  would 
have  me,  and  I  must  tell  the  truth,  although  it  breaks 
my  heart.  Geoffrey,  I  do  not  love  you." 

"  Can  I  not  teach  you  ?  "  he  pleaded  eagerly. 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  learn." 

Softly  she  spoke,  remorseful  she  looked,  but  the 


NO.  175 

words  wounded  like  a  blow.  All  the  glad  assurance 
died,  the  passionate  glow  faded,  the  caress,  half  ten 
der,  half  timid,  fell  away,  and  nothing  of  the  happy 
lover  remained  in  face  or  figure.  He  rose  slowly  as 
if  the  heavy  disappointment  oppressed  both  soul  and 
body.  He  fixed  on  her  a  glance  of  mingled  incredu 
lity,  reproach,  and  pain,  and  said,  like,  one  bent  on 
ending  suspense  at  once,  — 

"  Did  you  not  see  that  I  loved  you  ?  Can  you  have 
been  trifling  with  me  ?  Sylvia,  I  thought  you  too 
simple  and  sincere  for  heartless  coquetry." 

"  I  am  !  You  shall  not  suspect  me  of  that,  though 
I  deserve  all  other  reproaches.  I  have  been  very 
selfish,  very  blind.  I  should  have  remembered  that 
in  your  great  kindness  you  might  like  me  too  well 
for  your  own  peace.  I  should  have  believed  Max, 
and  been  less  candid  in  my  expressions  of  esteem. 
But  I  wanted  a  friend  so  much ;  I  found  all  I  could 
ask  in  you  ;  I  thought  my  youth,  my  faults,  my  follies, 
would  make  it  impossible  for  you  to  see  in  me  any 
thing  but  a  wayward  girl,  who  frankly  showed  her 
regard,  and  was  proud  of  yours.  It  was  one  of  my 
sad  mistakes  ;  I  see  it  now ;  and  now  it  is  too  late 
for  anything  but  penitence.  Forgive  me  if  you  can ; 
I  've  taken  all  the  pleasure,  and  left  you  all  the  pain." 

Sylvia  spoke  in  a  paroxysm  of  remorseful  sorrow. 
Moor  listened  with  a  sinking  heart,  and  when  she 
dropped  her  face  into  her  hands  again,  unable  to 
endure  the  pale  expectancy  of  his,  he  turned  away, 
saying  with  an  accent  of  quiet  despair,  — 


176  MOODS. 

"  Then  I  have  worked  and  waited  all  this  summer 
to  see  iny  harvest  fail  at  last.  Oh,  Sylvia,  I  so  loved, 
so  trusted  you  ! " 

He  leaned  his  arm  on  the  low  chimney-piece,  laid 
down  his  head  upon  it  and  stood  silent,  trying  to 
forgive. 

It  is  always  a  hard  moment  for  any  woman,  when 
it  demands  her  bravest  sincerity  to  look  into  a  coun 
tenance  of  eager  love,  and  change  it  to  one  of  bitter 
disappointment  by  the  utterance  of  a  monosyllable. 
To  Sylvia  it  was  doubly  hard ;  for  now  her  blindness 
seemed  as  incredible  as  cruel,  her  past  frankness  un 
justifiable,  her  pleasure  selfish,  her  refusal  the  black 
est  ingratitude,  and  her  dream  of  friendship  forever 
marred.  In  the  brief  pause  that  fell,  every  little 
service  he  had  rendered  her  rose  freshly  in  her  mem 
ory  ;  every  hour  of  real  content  and  genuine  worth 
that  he  had  given  her  seemed  to  come  back  and  re 
proach  her ;  every  look,  accent,  action,  of  both  happy 
past  and  sad  present  seemed  to  plead  for  him.  Her 
conscience  cried  out  against  her,  her  heart  overflowed 
with  penitence  and  pity.  She  looked  at  him,  longing 
to  say  something,  do  something  that  should  prove  her 
repentance,  and  assure  him  of  the  affection  which  she 
felt.  As  she  looked,  two  great  tears  fell  glittering  to 
the  hearth,  and  lay  there  such  eloquent  reproaches, 
that,  had  Sylvia's  heart  been  hard  and  cold  as  the 
marble  where  they  shone,  it  would  have  melted  then. 
She  could  not  bear  it ;  she  went  to  him,  took  in  both 
her  own  the  rejected  hand  that  hung  at  his  side,  and, 


NO.  177 

feeling  that  no  act  could  too  tenderly  express  her  sor 
row,  lifted  it  to  her  lips  and  kissed  it. 

An  instant  she  was  permitted  to  lay  her  cheek 
against  it  as  a  penitent  child  mutely  imploring  pardon 
might  have  done.  Then  it  broke  from  her  hold,  and, 
gathering  her  to  himself,  Moor  looked  up,  exclaiming 
with  renewed  hope,  unaltered  longing,  — 

"  You  do  care  for  me,  then  ?  You  give  yourself  to 
me  in  spite  of  that  hard  No  ?  Ah,  Sylvia,  you  are 
capricious  even  in  your  love." 

She  could  not  answer,  for  if  that  first  No  had  been 
hard  to  utter,  this  was  impossible.  It  seemed  like 
turning  the  knife  in  the  wound,  to  disappoint  the 
hope  that  had  gathered  strength  from  despair,  and 
she  could  only  lay  her  head  down  on  his  breast,  weep 
ing  the  saddest  tears  she  had  ever  shed.  Still  happy 
in  his  new  delusion,  Moor  softly  stroked  the  shining 
hair,  smiling  so  tenderly,  so  delightedly,  that  it  was 
well  for  her  she  did  not  see  the  smile,  the  words  were 
enough. 

"  Dear  Sylvia,  I  have  tried  so  hard  to  make  you 
love  me,  how  could  you  help  it  ? " 

The  reason  sprung  to  her  lips,  but  maiden  pride 
and  shame  withheld  it.  What  could  she  tell  except 
that  she  had  cherished  a  passion,  based  only  on  a 
look  ?  She  had  deceived  herself  in  her  belief  that 
Moor  was  but  a  friend ;  she  had  deceived  herself  in 
believing  Warwick  was  a  lover.  She  could  not  own 
this  secret,  its  betrayal  could  not  alter  her  reply  nor 
heal  Moor's  wound,  but  the  thought  of  Warwick 

12 


178  MOODS. 

strengthened  her.  It  always  did,  as  surely  as  the  in 
fluence  of  his  friend  always  soothed  her,  for  one  was 
an  embodiment  of  power,  the  other  of  tenderness. 

"  Geoffrey,  let  me  be  true  to  you  and  to  myself," 
she  said,  so  earnestly  that  it  gave  weight  to  her 
broken  words.  "  I  cannot  be  your  wife,  but  I  can  be 
your  friend  forever.  Try  to  believe  this,  —  make 
my  task  easier  by  giving  up  your  hope,  —  and  oh,  be 
sure  that  while  I  live  I  cannot  do  enough  to  show  my 
sorrow  for  the  great  wrong  I  have  done  you." 

"  Must  it  be  so  ?  I  find  it  very  hard  to  accept  the 
truth  and  give  up  the  hope  that  has  made  my  happi 
ness  so  long.  Let  me  keep  it,  Sylvia ;  let  me  wait 
and  work  again.  I  have  a  firm  belief  that  you  will 
love  me  yet,  because  I  cleave  to  you  with  heart  and 
soul,  long  for  you  continually,  and  think  you  the  one 
woman  of  the  world." 

"  Ah,  if  it  were  only  possible ! "  she  sighed. 

"  Let  me  make  it  so !  In  truth,  I  think  I  should 
not  labor  long.  You  are  so  young,  dear,  you  have 
not  learned  to  know  your  own  heart  yet.  It  was  not 
pity  nor  penitence  alone 'that  brought  you  here  to 
comfort  me.  Was  it,  Sylvia  ? " 

"  Yes.  Had  it  been  love,  could  I  stand  as  I  am 
now  and  not  show  it  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him,  showed  him  that  though  her 
cheeks  were  wet  there  was  no  rosy  dawn  of  passion 
there ;  though  her  eyes  were  as  full  of  affection  as  of 
grief,  there  was  no  shy  avoidance  of  his  own,  no  drop 
ping  of  the  lids,  lest  they  should  tell  too  much  ;  and 


NO.  179 

though  his  arm  encircled  her,  she  did  not  cling  to  him 
as  loving  women  cling  when  they  lean  on  the  strength 
which,  touched  by  love,  can  both  cherish  and  sustain. 
That  look  convinced  him  better  than  a  flood  of  words. 
A  long  sigh  broke  from  his  lips,  and,  turning  from 
her  the  eyes  that  had  so  wistfully  searched  and  found 
not,  they  went  wandering  drearily  hither  and  thither 
as  if  seeking  the  hope  whose  loss  made  life  seem 
desolate.  Sylvia  saw  it,  groaned  within  herself,  but 
still  held  fast  to  the  hard  truth,  and  tried  to  make  it 
kinder. 

"  Geoffrey,  I  once  heard  you  say  to  Max, '  Friendship 
is  the  best  college  character  can  graduate  from.  Be 
lieve  in  it,  seek  for  it,  and  when  it  comes  keep  it  as 
sacredly  as  love.'  All  my  life  I  have  wanted  a  friend, 
have  looked  for  one,  and  when  he  came  I  welcomed 
him.  May  I  not  keep  him,  and  preserve  the  friend 
ship  dear  and  sacred  still,  although  I  cannot  offer 
love  ? " 

Softly,  seriously,  she  spoke,  but  the  words  sounded 
cold  to  him ;  friendship  seemed  so  poor  now,  love  so 
rich,  he  could  not  leave  the  blessed  sunshine  which 
transfigured  the  whole  earth  and  sit  down  in  the  little 
circle  of  a  kindly  fire  without  keen  regret. 

"  I  ought  to  say  yes,  I  will  try  to  do  it  if  nothing 
easier  remains  to  me.  Sylvia,  for  five  years  I  have 
longed  and  waited  for  a  home.  Duty  forbade  it  then, 
because  poor  Marion  had  only  me  to  make  her  sad 
life  happy,  and  my  mother  left  her  to  my  charge. 
Now  the  duty  is  ended,  the  old  house  very  empty,  my 


180  MOODS. 

heart  very  hungry  for  affection.  You  are  all  in  all  to 
me,  and  I  find  it  so  difficult  to  relinquish  my  dream 
that  I  must  be  importunate.  I  have  spoken  too  soon  ; 
you  have  had  no  time  to  think,  to  look  into  yourself 
and  question  your  own  heart.  Go,  now,  recall  what 
I  have  said,  remember  that  I  will  wait  for  you 
patiently,  and  when  I  leave,  an  hour  hence,  come 
down  and  give  me  iny  last  answer." 

Sylvia  was  about  to  speak,  but  the  sound  of  an 
approaching  step  brought  over  her  the  shyness  she 
had  not  felt  before,  and  without  a  word  she  darted 
from  the  room.  Then  romance  also  fled,  for  Prue 
came  bustling  in,  and  Moor  was  called  to  talk  of  in 
fluenzas,  while  his  thoughts  were  full  of  love. 

Alone  in  her  chamber  Sylvia  searched  herself.  She 
pictured  the  life  that  would  be  hers  with  Moor.  The 
old  house  so  full  of  something  better  than  its  opulence, 
an  atmosphere  of  genial  tranquillity  which  made  it 
home-like  to  whoever  crossed  its  threshold.  Herself 
the  daily  companion  and  dear  wife  of  the  master  who 
diffused  such  sunshine  there,  whose  serenity  soothed 
her  restlessness,  whose  affection  would  be  as  endur 
ing  as  his  patience,  whose  character  she  so  truly 
honored.  She  felt  that  no  woman  need  ask  a  happier 
home,  a  truer  or  more  tender  lover.  But  when  she 
looked  into  herself  she  found  the  cordial,  unimpas- 
sioned  sentiment  he  first  inspired  still  unchanged, 
and  her  heart  answered,  — 

"  This  is  friendship." 

She  thought  of  Warwick,  and  the  other  home  that 


NO.  181 

might  be  hers.  Fancy  painted  in  glowing  colors  the 
stirring,  life,  the  novelty,  excitement,  and  ever  new 
delight  such  wanderings  would  have  for  her.  The 
joy  of  being  always  with  him ;  the  proud  conscious 
ness  that  she  was  nearest  and  dearest  to  such  a  man ; 
the  certainty  that  she  might  share  the  knowledge  of 
his  past,  might  enjoy  his  present,  help  to  shape  his 
future.  There  was  no  time  to  look  into  her  heart,  for 
up  sprang  its  warm  blood  to  her  cheek,  its  hope  to 
her  eye,  its  longing  to  her  lips,  its  answer  glad  and 
ready,  — 

"  Ah,  this  is  love  ! "  She  could  not  wait  to  prove 
the  .wisdom  of  either  sentiment;  impulse  ruled  her, 
and  the  mood  of  the  moment  blinded  her  now  as  often 
before. 

The  clock  struck  ten,  and  after  lingering  a  little 
Sylvia  went  down.  Slowly,  because  her  errand  was 
a  hard  one  ;  thoughtfully,  because  she  knew  not  where 
nor  how  she  could  best  deliver  it.  No  need  to  look 
for  him  or  linger  for  his  coming;  he  was  already 
there.  Alone  in  the  hall,  absently  smoothing  a  little 
silken  shawl  she  often  wore,  and  waiting  with  a  mel 
ancholy  patience  that  smote  her  to  the  heart.  He 
went  to  meet  her,  took  both  her  hands  in  his,  and 
looked  into  her  face  so  tenderly,  so  wistfully  !  — 

"  Sylvia,  is  it  good-night  or  good-by  ?  " 

Her  eyes  filled,  her  hands  trembled,  her  color  paled, 
but  she  answered  steadily,  — 

"  Forgive  me  !  it  is  good-by." 


182  MOODS. 


CHAPTER  XL 


YES. 


MOOR  went  away  to  live  down  his  disappoint 
ment.  The  houses  by  the  sea  were  shut,  and 
the  Yules  went  to  town  for  the  winter.  No  word 
came  from  Warwick,  and  Sylvia  ceased  to  hope. 

It  is  easy  to  say,  "  I  will  forget,"  but  perhaps  the 
hardest  task  given  us  is  to  lock  up  a  natural  yearning 
of  the  heart,  and  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  its  plaint,  for  cap 
tive  and  jailer  must  inhabit  the  same  small  cell.  Syl 
via  was  proud,  with  that  pride  which  is  both  sensi 
tive  and  courageous,  which  can  not  only  suffer,  but 
wring  strength  from  suffering.  While  she  struggled 
with  a  grief  that  aged  her  with  its  pain,  she  asked  no 
help,  made  no  complaint;  but  when  the  forbidden 
passion  stretched  its  arms  to  her,  she  thrust  it  back, 
and  turned  to  pleasure  for  oblivion. 

Those  who  knew  her  best  were  troubled  and  sur 
prised  by  the  craving  for  excitement  which  now  took 
possession  of  her,  the  avidity  with  which  she  gratified 
it,  regardless  of  time,  health,  or  money.  All  day 
she  hurried  here  and  there,  driving,  shopping,  sight 
seeing,  or  entertaining  guests  at  home.  Night  brought 
no  cessation  of  her  dissipation,  for  when  balls,  mas 
querades,  and  concerts  failed,  there  still  remained  the 


YES.  183 

theatre.  This  soon  became  both  a  refuge  and  a  solace, 
for,  believing  it  to  be  less  harmful  than  other  excite 
ments,  her  father  indulged  her  new  whim.  But,  had 
he  known  it,  this  was  the  most  dangerous  pastime 
she  could  have  chosen.  Calling  for  no  exertion  of 
her  own,  it  left  her  free  to  passively  receive  a  stim 
ulant  to  her  unhappy  love  in  watching  its  mimic 
semblance  through  all  phases  of  tragic  suffering  and 
sorrow,  for  she  would  see  no  comedies,  and  Shake 
speare's  tragedies  became  her  study. 

This  lasted  for  a  time,  then  the  reaction  came.  A 
black  melancholy  fell  upon  her,  and  energy  deserted 
soul  and  body.  She  found  it  a  weariness  to  get  up  in 
the  morning,  and  weariness  to  lie  down  at  night.  She 
no  longer  cared  even  to  seem  cheerful,  owned  that  she 
was  spiritless,  hoped  she  should  be  ill,  and  did  not 
care  if  she  died  to-morrow.  When  this  dark  mood 
seemed  about  to  become  chronic,  she  began  to  mend, 
for  youth  is  wonderfully  recuperative,  and  the  deepest 
wounds  soon  heal  even  against  the  sufferer's  will.  A 
quiet  apathy  replaced  the  gloom,  and  she  let  the  tide 
drift  her  where  it  would,  hoping  nothing,  expecting 
nothing,  asking  nothing  but  that  she  need  not  suffer 
any  more. 

She  lived  fast ;  all  processes  with  her  were  rapid ; 
and  the  secret  experience  of  that  winter  taught  her 
many  things.  She  believed  it  had  only  taught  her  to 
forget,  for  now  the  outcast  love  lay  very  still,  and  no 
longer  beat  despairingly  against  the  door  of  her  hea.rt, 
demanding  to  be  taken  in  from  the  cold.  She  fancied 


184  MOODS. 

that  neglect  had  killed  it,  and  that  its  grave  was  green 
with  many  tears.  Alas  for  Sylvia !  how  could  she 
know  that  it  had  only  sobbed  itself  to  sleep,  and 
would  wake  beautiful  and  strong  at  the  first  sound  of 
its  master's  voice. 

Max  became  eventful.  In  his  fitful  fashion  he  had 
painted  a  picture  of  the  Golden  Wedding,  from  sketch 
es  taken  at  the  time.  Moor  had  suggested  and  be 
spoken  it,  that  the  young  artist  might  have  a  motive 
for  finishing  it,  because,  though  he  excelled  in  scenes 
of  that  description,  he  thought  them  beneath  him,  and, 
tempted  by  more  ambitious  designs,  neglected  his 
true  branch  of  the  art.  In  April  it  was  finished,  and 
at  his  father's  request  Max  reluctantly  sent  it  with 
his  Clytemriestra  to  the  annual  Exhibition.  One 
morning  at  breakfast,  Mr.  Yule  suddenly  laughed  out 
behind  his  paper,  and  with  a  face  of  unmixed  satis 
faction  passed  it  to  his  son,  pointing  to  a  long  cri 
tique  upon  the  picture.  Max  prepared  himself  to 
receive  with  becoming  modesty  the  praises  lavished 
upon  his  great  work,  but  was  stricken  with  amaze 
ment  to  find  Clytemnestra  disposed  of  in  a  single 
sentence,  and  the  Golden  Wedding  lauded  in  a  long 
enthusiastic  paragraph. 

"  What  the  deuce  does  the  man  mean  ! "  he  ejacu 
lated,  staring  at  his  father. 

"  He  means  that  the  work  which  warms  the  heart  is 
greater  than  that  which  freezes  the  blood,  I  suspect. 
Moor  knew  what  you  could  do,  and  has  made  you  do 
it,  sure  that  if  you  worked  for  fame  unconsciously, 


YES.  185 

you  would  win  it.  This  is  a  success  that  I  can 
appreciate,  and  I  congratulate  you  heartily,  my  son." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  But  upon  my  word  I  don't  un 
derstand  it,  and  if  this  was  n't  written  by  the  best 
Art  critic  in  the  country  I  should  feel  inclined  to  say 
the  writer  was  a  fool.  Why,  that  little  thing  was  a 
daub  compared  to  the  other." 

He  got  no  farther  in  his  protest  against  this  unex 
pected  freak  of  fortune,  for  Sylvia  seized  the  paper 
and  read  the  paragraph  aloud  with  such  happy  em 
phasis  amid  Prue's  outcries  and  his  father's  applause, 
that  Max  began  to  feel  that  he  really  had  done  some 
thing  praiseworthy,  and  that  the  "  daub  "  was  not  so 
despicable  after  all. 

"  I  'm  going  to  look  at  it  from  this  new  point  of 
sight,"  was  his  sole  comment  as  he  went  away. 

Several  hours  afterward  he  appeared  to  Sylvia  as  she 
sat  sewing  alone,  and  startled  her  with  the  mysterious 
announcement,  — 

"  I  Ve  done  it !  " 

"  Done  what  ?  Have  you  burnt  poor  Clytemnes- 
tra  ? " 

"  Hang  Clytemnestra  !  I  '11  begin  at  the  beginning 
and  prepare  you  for  the  grand  finale.  I  went  to  the 
Exhibition,  and  stared  at  Father  Blake  and  his  family 
for  an  hour.  Decided  that  was  n't  bad,  though  I  still 
admire  the  other  more.  Then  people  began  to  come 
and  crowd  up,  so  that  I  slipped  away,  for  I  could  n't 
stand  the  compliments.  Dahlmann,  Scott,  and  all  the 
rest  of  my  tribe  were  there,  and,  as  true  as  my  name 


186  MOODS. 

is  Max  Yule,  every  man  of  them  ignored  the  Greek 
party  and  congratulated  me  upon  the  success  of  that 
confounded  Golden  Wedding." 

"  My  dearest  boy,  I  am  so  proud  !  so  glad  !  What 
is  the  matter  ?  Have  you  been  bitten  by  a  tarantula  ?" 

She  might  well  ask,  for  Max  was  dancing  all  over 
the  carpet  in  a  most  extraordinary  style,  and  only 
stopped  long  enough  to  throw  a  little  case  into  Syl 
via's  lap,  asking  as  a  whole  faceful  of  smiles  broke 
loose,  — 

"  What  does  that  mean  ? " 

She  opened  it,  and  a  suspicious  circlet  of  diamonds 
appeared,  at  sight  of  which  she  clapped  her  hands, 
and  cried  out,  — 

"  You  're  going  to  ask  Jessie  to  wear  it !  " 

"  I  have  !  I  have  !  "  sang  Max,  dancing  more  wildly 
than  ever.  Sylvia  chased  him  into  a  corner  and  held 
him  there,  almost  as  much  excited  as  he,  while  she 
demanded  a  full  explanation,  which  he  gave  her, 
laughing  like  a  boy  and  blushing  like  a  girl. 

"  You  have  no  business  to  ask,  but  of  course  I  'm 
dying  to  tell  you.  I  went  from  that  Painter's  Pur 
gatory,  as  we  call  it,  to  Mr.  Hope's,  and  asked  for  Miss 
Jessie.  My  angel  came  down ;  I  told  her  of  my  suc 
cess,  and  she  smiled  as  never  a  woman  did  before  ;  I 
added  that  I  'd  only  waited  to  make  myself  more 
worthy  of  her,  by  showing  that  I  had  talent,  as  well 
as  love  and  money  to  offer  her,  and  she  began  to  cry  ; 
whereat  I  took  her  in  iny  arms  and  ascended  straight 
into  heaven." 


YES.  187 

"  Please  be  sober,  Max,  and  tell  me  all  about  it. 
Was  she  glad  ?  Did  she  say  she  would  ?  And  is 
everything  as  we  would  have  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  all  perfect,  divine,  and  rapturous,  to  the  last 
decree.  Jessie  has  liked  me  ever  since  she  was  born, 

o 

she  thinks ;  adores  you  and  Prue  for  sisters ;  yearns 
to  call  my  parent  father ;  allowed  me  to  say  and  do 
whatever  I  liked ;  and  gave  me  a  ravishing  kiss  just 
there.  Sacred  spot !  I  shall  get  a  mate  to  it  when  I 
put  this  on  her  blessed  little  finger.  Try  it  for  me ; 
I  want  it  to  be  right,  and  your  hands  are  of  a  size. 
That  fits  grandly.  When  shall  I  see  a  joyful  sweet 
heart  doing  this  on  his  own  behalf,  Sylvia  ? " 

"  Never ! " 

She  shook  off  the  ring  as  if  it  burned  her,  watching 
it  roll  glittering  away  with  a  somewhat  tragical  ex 
pression.  Then  she  calmed  herself,  and,  sitting  down 
to  her  work,  enjoyed  Max's  raptures  for  an  hour. 

The  happiness  this  new  element  brought  into  the 
family  worked  a  change  in  all  of  them.  Mr.  Yule 
was  proud  of  his  son,  Prue  in  a  flutter  of  importance 
and  pleasure  at  the  prospect  of  a  wedding,  and  Sylvia 
found  it  very  interesting  to  watch  the  lovers,  to  en 
joy  a  little  of  the  sunshine  that  surrounded  them,  and 
to  envy  the  tender  regard  all  felt  for  them.  Eomance 
was  not  dead  in  her,  nor  the  desire  to  be  loved,  by 
those  at  home  at  least,  since  fate  denied  the  heart  she 
coveted. 

Having  known  Warwick,  it  was  easy  to  admire 
courage,  strength,  and  heroism ;  having  known  Moor, 


188  MOODS. 

it  was  impossible  not  to  see  and  feel  the  beauty  of 
self-sacrifice ;  and,  being  in  a  mood  both  humble  arid 
remorseful,  Sylvia  longed  to  combine  in  herself  some 
touch  of  the  virtues  she  so  respected  in  the  man  she 
loved  and  the  man  who  loved  her.  She  knew  it 
would  fill  her  family  with  comfort  and  gladness  if  she 
could  love  Moor ;  it  seemed  as  if  entire  self-renuncia 
tion  would  be  following  Adam's  counsel,  and  in  try 
ing  to  make  the  real  lover  happy  she  might  forget  the 
imaginary  one. 

All  through  the  winter  there  had  come  at  intervals 
letters  from  Moor  to  Max,  and  gifts  to  herself,  as  if 
their  friend  desired  to  show  them  that  he  still  thought 
of  them  and  was  glad  to  show  that  though  his  loss 
was  great  it  had  not  imbittered  the  old  affection. 

This  touched  Sylvia,  and  during  the  holidays,  when 
all  the  world  feels  kindly  and  akin,  she  wrote  to  thank 
him  for  the  holly  that  made  her  Christmas  gay,  the 
lovely  picture  that  came -at  New  Year,  and  the  good 
wishes  which  she  heartily  returned. 

It  was  April  now,  and  on  Sylvia's  birthday  arrived 
a  basket  full  of  moss  in  which  snowdrops  were  set  as  if 
growing,  with  a  card  bearing  only,  "  From  your  friend 
G.  M."  The  word  "  friend  "  was  lightly  underscored, 
as  if  to  assure  her  that  he  still  cherished  the  one  tie 
permitted  him,  and  sent  the  pretty  token  to  lighten 
his  regret  that  she  could  give  him  no  tenderer  one. 

As  she  read,  warm  over  Sylvia's  sore  heart  rushed 
the  grateful  thought,  "  He  cares  for  me  !  he  remembers 
me  !  If  he  would  come  back  I  would  try  to  love  him 
now." 


YES.  189 

Did  he  hear  the  wordless  cry,  divine  the  loneliness 
that  made  the  young  heart  ache  for  love,  and  corne  to 
profit  by  this  propitious  mood  ? 

As  the  city  clocks  struck  nine  that  night,  a  man 
paused  before  the  house  and  scrutinized  each  window. 
Many  were  alight,  but  on  the  drawn  curtain  of  one  a 
woman's  shadow  came  and  went.  He  watched  it  for 
a  moment,  then  noiselessly  went  in.  The  hall  was 
bright  and  solitary ;  from  above  came  the  sound  of 
voices ;  from  a  room  on  the  right  the  stir  of  papers  and 
the  scratch  of  a  pen ;  from  one  on  the  left  a  rustle  as 
of  silk  swept  slowly  to  and  fro.  To  the  threshold  of 
this  door  he  stepped  and  looked  in. 

Sylvia  was  just  turning  in  her  walk,  and  as  she 
came  musing  down  the  room,  Moor  saw  her  well. 
With  some  women  dress  has  no  relation  to  states  of 
mind ;  with  Sylvia  it  was  often  an  indication  of  the 
mental  garb  she  wore.  Moor  remembered  this  trait, 
and  saw  in  both  countenance  and  costume  the  change 
which  had  befallen  her  during  his  long  absence.  Her 
face  was  neither  gay  nor  melancholy,  but  serious  and 
coldly  quiet,  as  if  some  inward  twilight  reigned.  Her 
dress,  a  soft,  sad  gray  with  no  decoration  but  a  knot 
of  snowdrops  in  the  bosom.  On  these  pale  flowers 
her  eyes  were  fixed,  and  as  she  walked  with  folded 
arms  and  drooping  head,  she  sang  low  to  herself  St. 
Agnes'  song,  — 

"  Upon  the  convent  roof  the  snows 

Lie  sparkling  to  the  moon  ; 
My  breath  to  heaven  like  incense  goes, 
May  my  soul  follow  soon. 


190  MOODS. 

"  Lord,  make  my  spirit  pure  and  clear 

As  are  the  frosty  skies, 
Or  this  first  snowdrop  of  the  year, 
That  in  my  bosom  lies." 

"  Sylvia ! " 

Very  gentle  was  the  call,  but  she  started  as  if  it 
were  an  answer  to  a  wish,  looked  an  instant  while 
light  and  color  flashed  into  her  face,  then  ran  to  him, 
exclaiming  joyfully,  — 

"  Oh,  Geoffrey  !  I  am  glad  !  I  am  glad  !  " 

There  could  be  but  one  reply  to  such  a  welcome, 
and  Sylvia  received  it  as  she  stood  there,  not  weeping 
now,  but  smiling  with  the  sincerest  satisfaction,  the 
happiest  surprise.  Moor  shared  both  emotions,  feel 
ing  as  a  man  might  feel  when,  parched  with  thirst,  he 
stretches  out  his  hand  for  a  drop  of  rain,  and  receives 
a  brimming  cup  of  water.  He  drank  a  deep  draught 
gratefully,  then,  fearing  that  it  might  be  as  suddenly 
withdrawn,  asked  anxiously,  — 

"  Sylvia,  are  we  friends  or  lovers  ? " 

"  Anything,  if  you  will  only  stay." 

She  looked  up  as  she  spoke,  and  her  face  betrayed 
that  a  conflict  between  desire  and  doubt  was  going  on 
within  her.  Impulse  had  sent  her  there,  and  now  it 
was  so  sweet  to  know  herself  beloved,  she  found  it 
hard  to  go  away.  Her  brother's  happiness  had  touched 
her  heart,  roused  the  old  craving  for  affection,  and 
brought  a  strong  desire  to  fill  the  aching  void  her  lost 
love  had  left  with  this  recovered  one.  She  had  not 
learned  to  reason  yet,  she  could  only  feel,  because, 
owing  to  the  unequal  development  of  her  divided 


YES.  191 

nature,  the  heart  grew  faster  than  the  intellect.  In 
stinct  was  her  surest  guide,  and  when  she  followed  it, 
unblinded  by  a  passion,  urithwarted  by  a  mood,  she 
prospered.  But  now  she  was  so  blinded  and  so 
thwarted,  and  now  her  great  temptation  came.  Am 
bition,  man's  idol,  had  tempted  the  father;  love,  wo 
man's  god,  tempted  the  daughter ;  and,  as  if  the 
father's  atonement  was  to  be  wrought  out  through  his 
dearest  child,  the  daughter  also  made  the  false  step 
that  might  be  as  fatal  as  his  own. 

"  Then  you  have  learned  to  love  me,  Sylvia  ? " 
"  No  ;  the  old  feeling  has  not  changed  except  to  grow 
more  remorseful,  more  eager  to  prove  its  truth.  Once 
you  asked  me  if  I  did  not  wish  to  love  you ;  then  I 
did  not,  now  I  sincerely  do.  If  you  still  want  me 
with  my  many  faults,  and  will  teach  me  in  your  gen 
tle  way  to  be  all  I  should  to  you,  I  will  gladly  learn, 
because  I  never  needed  love  as  I  do  now.  Geoffrey, 
shall  I  stay  or  go  ? " 

"  Stay,  Sylvia.  Thank  God  for  this ! " 
If  she  had  ever  hoped  that  Moor  would  forget  her 
for  his  own  sake,  she  now  saw  how  vain  such  hope 
would  have  been,  and  was  both  touched  and  troubled 
by  the  knowledge  of  her  supremacy  which  that  hour 
gave  her.  She  was  as  much  the  calmer  as  friendship 
is  than  love,  and  was  the  first  to  speak  again,  still 
standing  there  content  although  her  words  expressed 
a  doubt. 

"  Are  you  very  sure  you  want  me  ?     Are  you  not 
tired  of  the  thorn  that  has  fretted  you  so  long  ?     Ee- 


192  MOODS. 

member,  I  am  so  young,  so  ignorant,  and  unfitted  for 
a  wife.  Can  I  give  you  real  happiness  ?  make  home 
what  you  would  have  it  ?  and  never  see  in  your  face 
regret  that  some  wiser,  better  woman  was  not  in  my 
place  ? " 

"  I  am  sure  of  myself,  and  satisfied  with  you,  as  you 
are,  no  wiser,  no  better,  nothing  but  my  Sylvia." 

"  It  is  very  sweet  to  hear  you  say  that  with  such  a 
look.  I  do  not  deserve  it,  but  I  will.  Is  the  pain  I 
once  gave  you  gone  now,  Geoffrey  ? " 

"  Gone  forever." 

"  Then  I  am  satisfied,  and  will  begin  my  life  anew 
by  trying  to  learn  well  the  lesson  my  kind  master  is 
to  teach  me." 

When  Moor  went  that  night  Sylvia  followed  him, 
and  as  they  stood  together,  this  happy  moment  seemed 
to  recall  that  other  bitter  one,  for,  taking  her  hands 
again,  he  asked,  smiling  now,  — 

"  Dear,  is  it  good-night  or  good-by  ? " 

"  It  is  good-night,  and  corue  to-morrow." 


WOOING.  193 


CHAPTEE  XII. 

WOOING. 

could  have  been  more  unlike  than  the 
two  pairs  of  lovers  who  from  April  to  August 
haunted  Mr.  Yule's  house.  One  pair  was  of  the  pop 
ular  order,  for  Max  was  tenderly  tyrannical,  Jessie 
adoringly  submissive,  and  at  all  hours  of  the  day  they 
were  to  be  seen  making  tableaux  of  themselves.  The 
other  pair  were  of  the  peculiar  order,  undemonstrative 
and  unsentimental,  but  quite  as  happy.  Moor  knew 
his  power,  but  used  it  generously,  asking  little  while 
giving  much.  Sylvia  as  yet  found  nothing  to  regret, 
for  so  gently  was  she  taught,  the  lesson  could  not 
seem  hard,  and  when  her  affection  remained  unchanged 
in  kind,  although  it  deepened  in  degree,  she  said 
within  herself,  — 

"That  strong  arid  sudden  passion  was  not  true 
love,  but  an  unwise,  unhappy  delusion  of  my  own.  I 
should  be  glad  that  it  is  gone,  because  I  know  I  am  not 
fit  to  be  Warwick's  wife.  This  quiet  feeling  which 
Geoffrey  inspires  must  be  a  safer  love  for  me,  and  I 
should  be  grateful  that  in  making  his  happiness  I  may 
yet  find  my  own." 

She  tried  heartily  to  forget  herself  in  others,  uncon 
scious  that  there  are  times  when  the  duty  we  owe 

13 


194  MOODS. 

ourselves  is  greater  than  that  we  owe  to  them.  In 
the  atmosphere  of  cheerfulness  that  now  surrounded 
her  she  could  not  but  be  cheerful,  and  soon  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  find  a  more  harmonious  house 
hold  than  this.  One  little  cloud  alone  remained  to 
mar  the  general  sunshine.  Max  was  in  a  frenzy  to 
be  married  and  had  set  his  heart  on  a  double  wedding, 
but  Sylvia  would  not  fix  a  time,  always  pleading,  — 

"  Let  me  be  quite  sure  of  myself  before  I  take  this 
step,  and  do  not  wait." 

Matters  stood  thus  till  Max,  having  prepared  his 
honeymoon  cottage  between  his  father's  house  and  the 
Manse,  as  a  relief  to  his  impatience,  found  it  so  irre 
sistible  that  he  announced  his  marriage  for  the  first 
of  August,  and  declared  no  human  power  should 
change  his  purpose.  Sylvia  promised  to  think  of  it, 
but  would  give  no  decided  answer,  because,  though 
she  hardly  owned  it  to  herself,  she  longed  to  hear 
some  news  of  Warwick  before  it  was  too  late. 

Max  and  Jessie  came  in  from  the  city  one  warm 
morning  and  found  Sylvia  sitting  idly  in  the  breezy 
hall.  She  left  all  her  preparations  to  Prue,  who  rev 
elled  in  such  affairs,  and  applied  herself  diligently  to 
her  new  lesson  as  if  afraid  she  might  not  learn  it  as 
well  as  she  ought.  Half-way  up  stairs  Max  paused 
to  say,  — 

"  You  remember  Warwick,  Sylvia." 

"Yes."  And  if  the  hall  had  not  been  so  dark,  her 
brother  might  have  seen  the  flush  of  mingled  pain  and 
joy  that  came  to  Sylvia's  listless  face. 


WOOING.  195 

"  Well,  I  met  a  friend  from  England  to-day  who 
told  me  he  came  across  old  Adam,  who  was  preparing 
to  join  one  of  the  Polar  expeditions.  Isn't  that  just 
like  him  ? "  And  Max  went  on  with  a  laugh. 

As  if  chilled  by  a  breath  from  that  icy  region,  Syl 
via's  last  half-unconscious  hope  died  then,  and  she 
gave  herself  with  entire  abandon  to  the  happiness  of 
others. 

Moor  had  written  to  his  friend  when  his  suit  failed, 
but  the  letter  was  still  following  Warwick  in  his  wan 
derings,  and,  receiving  no  reply,  Moor  waited  to  hear 
some  tidings  of  him  before  he  wrote  again  to  tell  his 
happy  news ;  while  Adam,  finding  time  and  absence 
fail  to  lessen  his  love,  seemed  to  have  decided  to  go 
to  the  ends  of  the  earth  and  cool  his  passion  among 
the  icebergs. 

Max  went  on  to  consult  Prue  about  his  wedding 
gloves,  and  Jessie  began  to  display  her  purchases  be 
fore  eyes  that  only  saw  a  blur  of  shapes  and  colors. 

"  I  should  enjoy  my  pretty  things  a  thousand  times 
more  if  you  would  only  please  us  all  by  being  married 
when  we  are,"  sighed  Jessie,  looking  at  her  veil. 

"  I  will." 

"  What,  really  ?  Sylvia,  you  are  a  perfect  darling ! 
Max  !  Prue  !  she  says  she  will !  " 

Away  flew  Jessie  to  proclaim  the  glad  news,  and 
Sylvia,  with  a  curious  expression  of  relief  and  re 
solve,  repeated  to  herself  that  decided  "  I  will." 

All  took  care  that  Miss  Caprice  should  not  have 
time  to  change  her  mind.  The  whole  house  was  soorf 


196  MOODS. 

in  a  bustle,  for  Prue  ruled  supreme.  Mr.  Yule  fled 
from  the  din  of  women's  tongues ;  the  bridegrooms 
elect  were  kept  on  a  very  short  allowance  of  bride, 
and  Sylvia  and  Jessie  were  almost  invisible,  for  mil 
liners  and  mantua-makers  swarmed  about  them  till 
they  felt  like  animated  pin-cushions. 

The  last  evening  came  at  length,  and  weary  Sylvia 
was  just  planning  to  escape  into  the  garden,  when 
Prue,  whose  tongue  wagged  as  rapidly  as  her  hands 
worked,  exclaimed  incoherently  as  usual,  — 

"  How  can  you  stand  staring  out  of  window  when 
there  is  so  much  to  do  ?  Here  are  all  these  trunks 
to  pack,  Maria  in  bed  with  a  frightful  toothache,  and 
that  capable  Jane  What's-her-name  gone  off  while 
I  was  putting  a  chamomile  poultice  on  her  face.  If 
you  are  tired  sit  down  and  try  on  all  your  shoes,  for 
though  Mr.  Peggit  has  your  measure,  those  absurd 
clerks  seem  to  think  it  a  compliment  to  send  chil 
dren's  sizes  to  grown  women.  I  'm  sure  niy  rubbers 
were  a  perfect  insult." 

Sylvia  sat  down,  tugged  on  one  boot  and  fell  into  a 
reverie  with  the  other  in  her  hand,  while  Prue  clacked 
on  like  a  wordmill  in  full  operation. 

"  How  I  'm  ever  to  get  all  these  gowns  into  that 
trunk  passes  my  comprehension.  There 's  a  tray  for 
each,  of  course ;  but  a  ball  dress  is  such  a  fractious 
thing.  I  could  shake  that  Antoinette  Koche  for  dis 
appointing  you  at  the  last  minute ;  and  what  you  are 
to  do  for  a  maid,  I  don't  know.  You  '11  have  so  much 
dressing  to  do  you  will  be  quite  worn  out ;  and  I 


WOOING.  197 

want  you  to  look  your  best  on  all  occasions,  for  you 
will  meet  everybody.  This  collar  won't  wear  well ; 
Clara  has  n't  a  particle  of  judgment,  though  her  taste 
is  sweet.  These  hose,  now,  are  a  good,  firm  article  ; 
I  chose  them  myself.  Do  be  sure  you  get  all  your 
things  from  the  wash.  At  those  great  hotels  there 's 
a  deal  of  pilfering,  and  you  are  so  careless." 

Here  Sylvia  came  out  of  her  reverie  with  a  sigh 
that  was  almost  a  groan. 

"  Don't  they  fit  ?  I  knew  they  would  n't !  "  said 
Prue,  with  an  air  of  triumph. 

"The  boots  suit  me,  but  the  hotels  do  not;  and 
if  it  was  not  ungrateful,  after  all  your  trouble,  I 
should  like  to  make  a  bonfire  of  this  roomful  of 
haberdashery,  and  walk  quietly  away  to  my  new 
home  by  the  light  of  it." 

As  if  the  bare  idea  of  such  an  awful  proceeding 
robbed  her  of  all  strength,  Miss  Yule  sat  suddenly 
down  in  the  trunk  by  which  she  was  standing.  For 
tunately  it  was  nearly  full,  but  her  appearance  was 
decidedly  ludicrous  as  she  sat  with  the  collar  in  one 
uplifted  hand,  the  hose  in  the  other,  and  the  ball  dress 
laid  over  her  lap  like  a  fainting  lady ;  while  she  said, 
with  imploring  solemnity,  which  changed  abruptly 
from  the  pathetic  to  the  comic  at  the  end  of  her 
speech,  — 

"  Sylvia,  if  I  ever  cherished  a  wish  in  this  world  of 
disappointment,  it  is  that  your  wedding  shall  have 
nothing  peculiar  about  it,  because  every  friend  and 
relation  you  'ye  got  expects  it.  Do  let  me  have  the 


198  MOODS. 

comfort  of  knowing  that  every  one  was  surprised  and 
pleased  ;  for  if  the  expression  was  elegant  (which  it 
isn't,  and  only  suggested  by  my  trials  with  those 
dressmakers),  I  should  say  I  was  on  pins  and  needles 
till  it 's  all  over.  Bless  me  !  and  so  I  am,  for  here  are 
three  on  the  floor  and  one  in  my  shoe."  Prue  paused 
to  extract  the  appropriate  figure  of  speech  which  she 
had  chosen,  and  Sylvia  said,  — 

"  If  we  have  everything  else  as  you  wish  it,  would 
you  mind  if  we  did  n't  go  the  journey  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  should.  Every  one  goes  a  wedding 
trip,  it 's  part  of  the  ceremony ;  and  if  two  carriages 
and  two  bridal  pairs  don't  leave  here  to-morrow,  1 
shall  feel  as  if  all  my  trouble  had  been  thrown 
away." 

"  I  '11  go,  Prue,  1 11  go  ;  and  you  shall  be  satisfied. 
But  I  thought  we  might  go  from  here  in  style,  and 
then  slip  off  on  some  quieter  trip.  I  am  so  tired  I 
dread  the  idea  of  frolicking  for  a  whole  month,  as 
Max  and  Jessie  mean  to  do." 

It  was  Prue's  turn  to  groan  now,  and  she  did  so 
dismally.  But  Sylvia  had  never  asked  a  favor  in  vain, 
and  this  was  not  the  moment  to  refuse  to  her  any 
thing,  so  worldly  pride  yielded  to  sisterly  affection, 
and  Prue  said  with  resignation,  as  she  fell  to  work 
more  vigorously  than  ever,  because  she  had  wasted 
five  good  minutes,  — 

"  Do  as  you  like,  dear,  you  shall  not  be  crossed  on 
your  last  day  at  home.  Ask  Geoffrey,  and  if  you  are 
happy  I  'm  satisfied." 


WOOING.  199 

Before  Sylvia  could  thank  her  sister  there  came  a 
tap  and  a  voice  asking, — 

"  Might  I  come  in  ?  " 

"  If  you  can  get  in,"  answered  Prue,  as,  reversing 
her  plan  in  her  hurry,  she  whisked  the  collar  into  a 
bag  and  the  hose  into  a  bandbox. 

Moor  paused  on  the  threshold  in  a  masculine  maze, 
that  one  small  person  could  need  so  much  drapery. 

"  May  I  borrow  Sylvia  for  a  little  while  ?  A 
breath  of  air  will  do  her  good,  and  I  want  her  bright 
and  blooming  for  to-morrow,  else  young  Mrs.  Yule 
will  outshine  young  Mrs.  Moor." 

"  What  a  thoughtful  creature  you  are,  Geoffrey  ! 
Take  her  and  welcome,  only  pray  put  on  a  shawl, 
Sylvia,  and  don't  stay  out  late,  for  a  bride  with  a  cold 
in  her  head  is  the  saddest  of  spectacles." 

Glad  to  be  released,  Sylvia  went  away,  and,  drop 
ping  the  shawl  as  soon  as  she  was  out  of  Prue's  sight, 
paced  up  and  down  the  garden  walks  upon  her  lover's 
arm.  Having  heard  her  wish  and  given  a  hearty  as 
sent,  Moor  asked,  — 

"  Where  shall  we  go  ?  Tell  me  what  you  would 
like  best  and  you  shall  have  it  You  will  not  let  me 
give  you  many  gifts,  but  this  pleasure  you  will  accept 
from  me,  I  know." 

"  You  give  me  yourself ;  that  is  more  than  I  deserve. 
But  I  should  like  to  have  you  take  me  to  the  place 
you  like  best.  Don't  tell  me  beforehand,  let  it  be  a 
surprise." 

"  I  will ;  it  is  already  settled,  and  I  know  you  will 


200  MOODS. 

like  it.  Is  there  no  other  wish  to  be  granted,  no 
doubt  to  be  set  at  rest,  or  regret  withheld  that  I  should 
know  ?  Tell  me,  Sylvia,  for  if  ever  there  should  be 
confidence  between  us  it  is  now." 

As  he  spoke  the  desire  to  tell  him  of  her  love  for 
Adam  rose  within  her,  but  with  the  desire  came  a 
thought  that  modified  the  form  in  which  impulse 
prompted  her  to  make  confession.  Moor  was  both 
sensitive  and  proud ;  would  not  the  knowledge  of  the 
fact  mar  for  him  the  friendship  that  was  so  much  to 
both  ?  From  Warwick  he  would  never  learn  it,  from 
her  he  should  have  only  a  half  confidence,  and  so 
love  both  friend  and  wife  with  an  untroubled  heart. 
Few  of  us  can  always  control  the  rebellious  nature 
that  so  often  betrays  and  then  reproaches,  few  always 
weigh  the  moment  and  the  act  that  bans  or  blesses  it, 
and  where  is  the  life  that  has  not  known  some  turn 
ing-point  when  a  fugitive  emotion  has  decided  great 
issues  for  good  or  ill  ?  Such  an  emotion  came  to  Syl 
via  then,  and  another  temptation,  wearing  the  guise  of 
generosity,  urged  her  to  another  false  step,  for  when 
the  first  is  taken  a  second  inevitably  follows. 

"  I  have  no  wish,  no  regret,  nothing  but  the  old 
doubt  of  my  unstable  self,  and  the  fear  that  I  may 
fail  to  make  you  happy.  But  I  should  like  to  tell 
you  something.  I  don't  know  that  you  will  care  for 
it,  or  that  there  is  any  need  to  tell  it,  but  when  you 
said  there  should  be  confidence  between  us,  I  felt 
that  I  wanted  you  to  know  that  I  had  loved  some  one 
before  I  loved  you." 


WOOING.  201 

He  did  not  see  her  face,  he  only  heard  her  quiet 
voice.  He  had  no  thought  of  Adam,  whom  she  had 
known  so  short  a  time,  who  was  so  indifferent  to 
women,  and  who  always  spoke  of  and  treated  Sylvia 
as  a  child.  He  fancied  that  she  thought  of  some 
young  lover  who  had  touched  her  heart,  and  while  he 
smiled  at  the  nice  sense  of  honor  that  prompted  the 
innocent  confession,  he  said,  with  no  coldness,  no  curi 
osity  in  voice  or  face,  — 

"  No  need  to  tell  it,  dear.  I  have  no  jealousy  of  any 
one  who  has  gone  before  me.  Rest  assured  of  this, 
for  if  I  could  not  share  so  large  a  heart  with  one  who 
will  never  claim  my  share  I  should  not  deserve  it." 

"  That  is  so  like  you  !     Now  I  am  quite  at  ease." 

He  looked  down  at  her  as  she  went  beside  him, 
thinking  that  of  all  the  brides  he  had  ever  seen  his 
own  looked  least  like  one. 

"  I  always  thought  that  you  would  make  a  very 
ardent  lover,  Sylvia ;  that  you  would  be  excited,  gay, 
and  brilliant  at  a  time  like  this.  But  you  are  so 
quiet,  so  absorbed,  and  so  unlike  your  former  self  that 
I  begin  to  think  I  do  not  know  you  yet." 

"You  will  in  time.  I  am  passionate  and  restless 
by  nature,  but  I  am  also  very  sensitive  to  all  influ 
ences,  personal  or  otherwise,  and  were  you  different 
from  your  tranquil,  sunshiny  self,  I  too  should  change. 
I  am  quiet  because  I  seem  in  a  pleasant  state,  half 
waking,  half  dreaming,  from  which  I  never  wish  to 
wake.  I  am  tired  of  the  past,  contented  with  the 
present,  and  to  you  I  leave  the  future." 


202  MOODS. 

"It  shall  be  a  happy  one  if  I  can  make  it  so,  and 
to-morrow  you  will  give  me  the  dear  right  to  try." 

"Yes,"  she  said;  and,  thinking  of  the  solemn  prom 
ises  to  be  then  made,  she  added  thoughtfully,  "  I 
think  I  love,  I  know  I  honor,  I  will  try  to  obey. 
Can  I  do  more  ? " 

Well  for  them  both  if  they  could  have  known  that 
friendship  is  Ipve's  twin,  and  the  gentle  sisters  are  too 
often  mistaken  for  each  other  ;  that  Sylvia  was  inno 
cently  deceiving  both  her  lover  and  herself,  by  wrap 
ping  her  friendship  in  the  garb  her  lost  love  had  worn, 
forgetting  that  the  wanderer  might  return  and  claim 
its  own,  leaving  the  other  to  suffer  for  the  borrowed 
warmth.  They  did  not  know  it,  and  walked  tran 
quilly  together  in  the  summer  night,  planning  the 
new  life  as  they  went,  and  when  they  parted  Moor 
pointed  to  a  young  moon  hanging  in  the  sky. 

"  See,  Sylvia,  our  honeymoon  has  risen." 

"  May  it  be  a  happy  one  ! " 

"  It  will  be,  and  when  the  anniversary  of  this  glad 
night  comes  round  it  shall  be  shining  still.  God 
bless  my  little  wife  ! " 


s 


WEDDING.  203 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

WEDDING. 

YLVIA  was  awakened  on  her  wedding  morning 
by  a  curious  choking  sound,  and  starting  up 
found  Prue  crying  over  her  as  if  her  heart  were 
broken. 

"What  has  happened?  Is  Geoffrey  ill?  Is  all 
the  silver  stolen  ?  Can't  the  Bishop  come  ? "  she 
asked,  wondering  what  calamity  could  move  her  sis 
ter  to  tears  at  such  a  busy  time. 

Prue  took  Sylvia  in  her  arms,  and,  rocking  to  and 
fro  as  if  she  was  still  a  baby,  poured  forth  a  stream 
of  words  and  tears  together. 

"  Nothing  has  happened  ;  I  came  to  call  you,  and 
broke  down  because  it  was  the  last  time  I  should  do 
it.  I  've  been  awake  all  night,  thinking  of  you  and 
all  you.  've  been  to  me  since  I  took  you  in  my  arms 
eighteen  years  ago,  and  said  you  should  be  mine. 
My  little  Sylvia,  I've  been  neglectful  of  so  many 
things,  and  now  I  see  them  all ;  I  've  fretted  you  with 
my  ways,  and  haven't  been  patient  enough  with  yours  ; 
I  've  been  selfish  even  about  your  wedding,  and  it 
won't  be  as  you  like  it ;  you  '11  reproach  me  in  your 
heart,  and  I  shall  hate  myself  for  it  when  you  are 
gone  never  to  be  my  care  and  comfort  any  more. 


204  MOODS. 

And  —  oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,  what  shall  I  do  without 
you ! " 

This  unexpected  demonstration  from  her  prosaic 
sister  touched  Sylvia  more  than  the  most  sentimental 
lamentations  from  another.  It  brought  to  mind  all 
the  past  devotion,  the  future  solitude  of  Prue's  life,  and 
she  clung  about  her  neck  tearless  but  very  tender. 

"  I  never  shall  reproach  you,  never  'cease  to  love 
and  thank  you  for  all  you  Ve  been  to  me,  my  dear 
old  Prue.  You  must  n't  grieve  over  me,  or  think  I 
shall  forget  you,  for  you  never  shall  be  forsaken ;  and 
very  soon  I  shall  be  back,  almost  as  much  your  Sylvia 
as  ever.  Max  will  live  on  one  side,  I  shall  live  on  the 
other,  and  we  '11  be  merry  and  cosey  together.  And 
who  knows  but  when  we  are  both  out  of  your  way  you 
will  learn  to  think  of  yourself  and  marry  also." 

At  this  Prue  began  to  laugh  hysterically,  and  ex 
claimed,  with  more  than  her  usual  incoherency,  — 

"  I  must  tell  you,  it  was  so  very  odd !  I  did  n't 
mean  to  do  so,  because  you  children  would  tease 
me ;  but  now  I  wish  to  laugh,  for  it 's  a  bad  omen  to 
cry  over  a  bride,  they  say.  My  dear,  that  gouty  Mr. 
MacGregor,  when  I  went  in  with  some  of  my  nice 
broth  last  week  (Hugh  slops  so,  and  he  's  sucli  a 
fidget,  I  took  it  myself),  after  he  had  eaten  every 
drop  before  my  eyes,  wiped  his  mouth  and  asked 
me  to  marry  him." 

"  And  you  would  not,  Prue  ? " 

"  Bless  me,  child,  how  could  I  ?  I  must  take  care 
of  my  poor  dear  father,  and  he  is  n't  pleasant  in  the 


WEDDING.  205 

least,  you  know,  but  would  wear  my  life  out  in  a 
week.  I  r.eally  pitied  him,  however,  when  I  refused 
him,  with  a  napkin  round  his  neck,  and  he  tapped 
his  waistcoat  with  a  spoon  so  comically,  when  he  of 
fered  me  his  heart,  as  if  it  were  something  good  to 
eat." 

"  How  very  funny  !     What  made  him  do  it,  Prue  ? " 

"  He  said  he  'd  watched  the  preparations  from  his 
window,  and  got  so  interested  in  weddings  that  he 
wanted  one  himself,  and  felt  drawn  to  me,  I  was  so 
sympathetic.  That  means  a  good  nurse  and  cook,  my 
dear.  I  understand  these  invalid  gentlemen,  and  will 
be  a  slave  to  no  man  so  fat  and  fussy  as  Mr.  Mac, 
as  my  brother  calls  him.  It 's  not  respectful,  but  I 
like  to  refresh  myself  by  saying  it  just  now." 

"  Never  mind  the  old  soul,  Prue,  but  go  and  have 
your  breakfast  comfortably ;  for  there  is  much  to  be 
done,  and  no  one  is  to  dress  me  but  your  own  dear 
self." 

At  this  Prue  relapsed  into  the  pathetic  again,  and 
cried  over  her  sister  as  if,  despite  the  omen,  brides 
were  plants  that  needed  much  watering. 

The  appearance  of  the  afflicted  Maria,  with  her 
face  still  partially  eclipsed  by  the  chamomile  com 
forter,  and  an  announcement  that  the  waiters  had 
come  and  were  "  ordering  round  dreadful,"  caused 
Prue  to  pocket  her  handkerchief  and  descend  to  turn 
the  tables  in  every  sense  of  the  word. 

The  prospect  of  the  wedding  breakfast  made  the 
usual  meal  a  mere  mockery.  Every  one  was  in  a 


206  MOODS. 

driving  hurry,  every  one  was  very  much  excited,  and 
nobody  but  Prue  and  the  colored  gentlemen  brought 
anything  to  pass.  Sylvia  went  from  room  to  room 
bidding  them  good-by  as  the  child  who  had  played 
there  so  long.  But  each  looked  unfamiliar  in  its  state 
and  festival  array,  and  the  old  house  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  her  already.  She  spent  an  hour  with  her 
father,  paid  Max  a  little  call  in  the  empty  studio 
where  he  was  bidding  adieu  to  the  joys  of  bachelor 
hood,  and  preparing  himself  for  the  jars  of  matrimony 
by  a  composing  smoke,  and  then  Prue  claimed  her. 

The  agonies  she  suffered  during  that  long  toilet  are 
beyond  the  powers  of  language  to  portray,  for  Prue 
surpassed  herself  and  was  the  very  essence  of  fussi- 
ness.  But  Sylvia  bore  it  patiently  as  a  last  sacrifice, 
because  her  sister  was  very  tender-hearted  still,  and 
laughed  and  cried  over  her  work  till  all  was  done, 
when  she  surveyed. the  effect  with  pensive  satisfaction. 

"  You  are  very  sweet,  my  dear,  and  so  delightfully 
calm,  you  really  do  surprise  me.  I  always  thought 
you  'd  have  hysterics  on  your  wedding-day,  and  got 
my  vinaigrette  all  ready.  Keep  your  hands  just  as 
they  are,  with  the  handkerchief  and  bouquet ;  it  looks 
very  easy  and  rich.  Dear  me,  what  a  spectacle  I  've 
made  of  myself !  But  I  shall  cry  no  more,  not  even 
during  the  ceremony,  as  many  do.  Such  displays  of 
feeling  are  in  very  bad  taste,  and  I  shall  be  firm,  per 
fectly  firm  ;  so  if  you  hear  any  one  sniff,  you  11  know 
it  is  n't  me.  Now  I  must  go  and  scramble  on  my 
dress ;  first,  let  me  arrange  you  smoothly  in  a  chair. 


WEDDING.  207 

There,  my  precious,  now  think  of  soothing  things, 
and  don't  stir  till  Geoffrey  comes  for  you." 

Too  tired  to  care  what  happened  just  then,  Sylvia 
sat  as  she  was  placed,  feeling  like  a  fashion-plate  of  a 
bride,  and  wishing  she  could  go  to  sleep.  Presently 
the  sound  of  steps  as  fleet  as  Max's,  bat  lighter,  waked 
her  up,  and,  forgetting  orders,  she  rustled  to  the  door 
with  an  expression  which  fashion-plates  have  not  yet 
attained. 

"  Good-morning,  little  bride." 

"  Good-morning,  bonny  bridegroom." 

Then  they  looked  at  one  another,  and  both  smiled. 
But  they  seemed  to  have  changed  characters  ;  for 
Moor's  usually  tranquil  face  was  full  of  pale  excite 
ment,  Sylvia's  usually  vivacious  one  full  of  quietude, 
and  her  eyes  wore  the  unquestioning  content  of  a 
child  who  accepts  some  friendly  hand,  sure  that  it 
will  lead  it  right. 

"  Prue  desires  me  to  take  you  out  into  the  upper 
hall,  and  when  Mr.  Deane  beckons,  we  are  to  go  down 
at  once.  The  rooms  are  full,  and  Jessie  is-  ready. 
Shall  we  go  ? " 

"  One  moment :  Geoffrey,  are  you  quite  happy 
now  ? " 

"  Supremely  happy  !  " 

"  Then  it  shall  be  the  first  duty  of  my  life  to  keep 
you  so."  And  with  a  gesture  soft  yet  solemn,  Sylvia 
laid  her  hand  in  his,  as  if  endowing  him  with  both 
gift  and  giver.  He  held  it  fast,  and  never  let  it  go 
until  it  was  his  own. 


208  MOODS. 

In  the  upper  hall  they  found  Max  hovering  about 
Jessie  like  an  agitated  bee  about  a  very  full-blown 
flower,  and  Clara  Deane  flapping  him  away,  lest  he 
should  damage  the  effect  of  this  beautiful  white  rose. 
For  ten  minutes,  ages  they  seemed,  the  five  stood 
together  listening  to  the  stir  below,  looking  at  one 
another  till  they  were  tired  of  the  sight  and  scent  of 
orange  blossoms,  and  wishing  that  the  whole  affair  was 
safely  over.  But  the  instant  a  portentous  "  Hem  ! " 
was  heard,  and  a  white  glove  seen  to  beckon  from  the 
stair-foot,  every  one  fell  into  a  flutter.  Moor  turned 
paler  still,  and  Sylvia  felt  his  heart  beat  hard  against 
her  hand.  She  herself  was  seized  with  a  momentary 
desire  to  run  away  and  say  "  No  "  again.  Max  looked 
as  if  nerving  himself  for  immediate  execution,  and 
Jessie  feebly  whispered,  — 

"  0  Clara,  I  'm  going  to  faint ! " 

"  Good  heavens,  what  shall  I  do  with  her  ?  Max, 
support  her  !  My  darling  girl,  smell  this  and  bear  up. 
For  mercy  sake,  do  something,  Sylvia,  and  don't  stand 
there  looking  as  if  you  'd  been  married  every  day  for 
a  year." 

In  his  excitement,  Max  gave  his  bride  a  little 
shake.  Its  effect  was  marvellous.  She  rallied  in 
stantly,  with  a  reproachful  glance  at  her  crumpled 
veil  and  a  decided  — 

"  Come  quick,  I  can  go  now/' 

Down  they  went,  through  a  wilderness  of  summer 
silks,  black  coats,  and  bridal  gloves.  How  they 
reached  their  places  none  of  them  ever  knew ;  Max 


WEDDING.  209 

said  afterward,  that  the  instinct  of  self-preservation 
led  him  to  the  only  means  of  extrication  that  circum 
stances  allowed.  The  moment  the  Bishop  opened  his 
book,  Prue  took  out  her  handkerchief  and  cried  stead 
ily  through  the  entire  ceremony  ;  for,  dear  as  were  the 
proprieties,  the  "  children  "  were  clearer  still. 

At  Sylvia's  desire,  Max  was  married  first,  and  as 
she  stood  listening  to  the  sonorous  roll  of  the  service 
falling  from  the  Bishop's  lips,  she  tried  to  feel  devout 
and  solemn,  but  failed  to  do  so.  She  tried  to  keep 
her  thoughts  from  wandering,  but  continually  found 
herself  wondering  if  that  sob  came  from  Prue,  if  her 
father  felt  it  very  much,  and  when  it  would  be  done. 
She  tried  to  keep  her  eyes  fixed  timidly  upon  the  car 
pet  as  she  had  been  told  to  do,  but  they  would  rise 
and  glance  about  against  her  will. 

One  of  these  derelictions  from  the  path  of  duty 
nearly  produced  a  catastrophe.  Little  Tilly,  the 
gardener's  pretty  child,  had  strayed  in  from  among 
the  servants  peeping  at  a  long  window  in  the  rear,  and 
established  herself  near  the  wedding  group,  looking 
like  a  small  ballet  girl  in  her  full  white  frock  and 
wreath  pushed  rakishly  askew  on  her  curly  pate. 
As  she  stood  regarding  the  scene  with  dignified  amaze 
ment,  her  eye  met  Sylvia's.  In  spite  of  the  unusual 
costume,  the  baby  knew  her  playmate,  and,  running 
to  her,  thrust  her  head  under  the  veil  with  a  delighted 
"  Peep  a  bo  ! "  Horror  seized  Jessie,  Max  was  on  the 
brink  of  a  laugh,  and  Moor  looked  like  one  fallen 
from  the  clouds.  But  Sylvia  drew  the  little  marplot 

14 


210  MOODS. 

close  to  her  with  a  warning  word,  and  there  she 
stayed,  quietly  amusing  herself  with  "  pooring "  the 
silvery  dress,  smelling  the  flowers,  and  staring  at  the 
Bishop. 

After  this,  all  prospered.  The  gloves  came  smooth 
ly  off,  the  rings  went  smoothly  on ;  no  one  cried  but 
Prue,  no  one  laughed  but  Tilly  ;  the  brides  were  ad 
mired,  the  grooms  envied  ;  the  service  pronounced 
impressive,  and  when  it  ended,  a  tumult  of  congratu 
lations  arose. 

Sylvia  always  had  a  very  confused  idea  of  what 
happened  during  the  next  hour.  She  remembered 
being  kissed  till  her  cheeks  burned,  and  shaken  hands 
with  till  her  fingers  tingled ;  bowing  in  answer  to 
toasts,  and  forgetting  to  reply  when  addressed  by  the 
new  name  ;  trying  to  eat  and  drink,  and  discovering 
that  everything  tasted  of  wedding  cake ;  finding  her 
self  up  stairs  hurrying  on  her  travelling  dress,  then 
down  stairs  saying  good-by  ;  and  when  her  father  em 
braced  her  last  of  all,  suddenly  realizing,  with  a  pang, 
that  she  was  married  and  going  away,  never  to  be 
little  Sylvia  any  more. 

Prue  was  gratified  to  her  heart's  content,  for,  when 
the  two  bridal  carriages  had  vanished  with  handker 
chiefs  flying  from  their  windows,  in  answer  to  the 
white  whirlwind  on  the  lawn,  Mrs.  Grundy,  with  an 
approving  smile  on  her  aristocratic  countenance,  pro 
nounced  this  the  most  charming  affair  of  the  season. 


SYLVIA'S  HONEYMOON.  211 

CHAPTEK  XIV. 

SYLVIA'S  HONEYMOON. 

IT  began  with  a  pleasant  journey.  Day  after  day 
they  loitered  along  country  roads  that  led  them 
through  many  scenes  of  summer  beauty ;  pausing  at 
old-fashioned  inns  and  wayside  farmhouses,  or  gypsy- 
ing  at  noon  in  some  green  nook  where  their  four- 
footed  comrades  dined  off  their  table-cloth  while  they 
made  merry  over  the  less  simple  fare  their  last  hostess 
had  provided  for  them.  When  the  scenery  was  un 
interesting,  as  was  sometimes  the  case,  —  for  Nature 
will  not  disturb  her  domestic  arrangements  for  any 
bridal  pair,  —  one  or  the  other  read  aloud,  or  both 
sang,  while  conversation  was  a  never-failing  pastime 
and  silence  had  charms  which  they  could  enjoy. 
Sometimes  they  walked  a  mile  or  two,  ran  down  a 
hillside,  rustled  through  a  grain-field,  strolled  into  an 
orchard,  or  feasted  from  fruitful  hedges  by  the  way, 
as  care-free  as  the  squirrels  on  the  wall,  or  the  jolly 
brown  bees  lunching  at  the  sign  of  "  The  Clover-top." 
They  made  friends  with  sheep  in  meadows,  cows  at 
the  brook,  travellers  morose  or  bland,  farmers  full  of 
a  sturdy  sense  that  made  their  chat  as  wholesome  as 
the  mould  they  delved  in ;  school-children  barefooted 
and  blithe,  and  specimens  of  womankind,  from  the 


212  MOODS. 

buxom  housewife,  who  took  them  under  her  motherly 
wing  at  once,  to  the  sour,  snuffy,  shoe-binding  spin 
ster  with  "  No  Admittance  "  written  all  over  her  face. 

To  Moor  the  world  was  glorified  with  the  purple 
light  which  seldom  touches  it  but  once  for  any  of  us  ; 
the  journey  was  a  wedding  march,  made  beautiful  by 
summer,  victorious  by  joy;  his  young  wife  the  queen 
of  women,  and  himself  an  equal  of  the  gods,  because 
no  longer  conscious  of  a  want.  Sylvia  could  not  be 
otherwise  than  happy ;  for,  finding  unbounded  liberty 
and  love  her  portion,  she  had  nothing  to  regret,  and 
regarded  marriage  as  an  agreeable  process  which  had 
simply  changed  her  name  and  given  her  protector, 
friend,  and  lover  all  in  one.  She  was  therefore  her 
sweetest  and  sincerest  self,  miraculously  docile  and 
charmingly  gay  ;  interested  in  all  she  saw,  and  quite 
overflowing  with  delight  when  the  last  days  of  the 
week  betrayed  the  secret  that  her  destination  was  the 
mountains. 

Loving  the  sea  so  well,  her  few  flights  from  home 
had  given  her  only  marine  experiences,  and  the  flavor 
.of  entire  novelty  was  added  to  the  feast  her  husband 
had  provided  for  her.  It  came  to  her  not  only  when 
she  could  enjoy  it  most,  but  when  she  needed  it  most, 
soothing  the  unquiet,  stimulating  the  nobler,  elements 
which  ruled  her  life  by  turns,  and  fitting  her  for  what 
lay  before  her.  Choosing  the  quietest  roads,  Moor 
showed  her  the  wonders  of  a  region  whose  wild  gran 
deur  and  beauty  make  its  memory  a  lifelong  satisfac 
tion.  Day  after  day  they  followed  mountain  paths, 


SYLVIA'S  HONEYMOON.  213 

studying  the  changes  of  an  ever-varying  landscape, 
watching  the  flush  of  dawn  redden  the  granite  fronts 
of  these  Titans  scarred  with  centuries  of  storm,  the 
lustre  of  noon  brood  over  them  until  they  smiled,  the 
evening  purple  wrap  them  in  its  splendor,  or  moon 
light  touch  them  with  its  magic ;  till  Sylvia,  always 
looking  up  at  that  which  filled  her  heart  with  rever 
ence  and  awe,  was  led  to  look  beyond,  and  through 
the  medium  of  the  friend  beside  her,  learned  that 
human  love  brings  us  nearer  to  the  Divine,  and  is  the 
surest  means  to  that  great  end. 

The  last  week  of  the  honeymoon  came  all  too  soon, 
for  then  they  had  promised  to  return.  The  crowning 
glory  of  the  range  was  left  until  the  last,  and  after  a  day 
of  memorable  delights  Sylvia  sat  in  the  sunset  feast 
ing  her  eyes  upon  the  wonders  of  a  scene  which  is 
indescribable,  for  words  have  limits  and  that  is  appar 
ently  illimitable.  Presently  Moor  came  to  her,  ask 
ing,  - 

"  Will  you  join  a  party  to  the  great  ice  palace,  and 
see  three  acres  of  snow  in  August,  worn  by  a  water 
fall  into  a  cathedral,  as  white  if  not  as  durable  as  any 
marble  ?  " 

"  I  sit  so  comfortably  here  I  think  I  had  rather  not. 
But  you  must  go,  because  you  like  such  wonders,  and 
I  shall  rest  till  you  come  back." 

"  Then  I  shall  take  myself  off  and  leave  you  to 
muse  over  the  pleasures  of  the  day,  which  for  a  few 
hours  has  made  you  one  of  the  most  eminent  women 
this  side  the  Eocky  Mountains.  There  is  a  bugle  at 


214  MOODS. 

the  house  here  with  which  to  make  the  echoes.  I 
shall  take  it  with  me,  and  from  time  to  time  send  up 
a  sweet  reminder  that  you  are  not  to  stray  away  and 
lose  yourself." 

Sylvia  sat  for  half  an  hour,  then,  wearied  by  the 
immensity  of  the  wide  landscape,  she  tried  to  rest  her 
mind  by  examining  the  beauties  close  at  hand.  Stroll 
ing  down  the  path  the  sightseers  had  taken,  she 
found  herself  in  a  rocky  basin,  scooped  in  the  moun 
tain  side  like  a  cup  for  a  little  pool,  so  clear  and  bright 
it  looked  a  diamond  set  in  jet.  A  fringe  of  scanty 
herbage  had  collected  about  its  brim,  russet  mosses, 
purple  heath,  and  delicate  white  flowers,  like  a  band 
of  tiny  hill-people  keeping  their  revels  by  some  fairy 
well  The  spot  attracted  her,  and,  remembering  that 
she  was  not  to  stray  away,  she  sat  down  beside  the 
path  to  wait  for  her  husband's  return. 

In  the  act  of  bending  over  the  pool  to  sprinkle  the 
thirsty  little  company  about  it,  her  hand  was  arrested 
by  the  tramp  of  approaching  feet,  and,  looking  up  to 
discover  who  was  the  disturber  of  her  retreat,  she  saw 
a  man  pausing  at  the  top  of  the  path  opposite  to  that 
by  which  she  had  come.  He  seemed  scrutinizing  the 
solitary  occupant  of  the  dell  before  descending ;  but 
as  she  turned  her  face  to  him  he  flung  away  knapsack, 
hat,  and  staff,  and  then  with  a  great  start  she  saw  no 
stranger,  but  Adam  Warwick.  Coming  down  to  her 
so  joyfully,  so  impetuously,  she  had  only  time  to  rec 
ognize  him,  and  cry  out,  when  she  was  swept  up  in 
an  embrace  as  tender  as  irresistible,  and  lay  there 


SYLVIA'S  HONEYMOON.  215 

conscious  of  nothing,  but  that  happiness,  like  some 
strong  swift  angel,  had  wrapt  her  away  into  the  prom 
ised  land  so  long  believed  in,  hungered  for,  and  de 
spaired  of,  as  forever  lost.  Soon  she  heard  his  voice, 
breathless,  eager,  but  so  fond  it  seemed  another  voice 
than  his. 

"  My  darling !  did  you  think  I  should  never  come  ? " 

"  I  thought  you  had  forgotten  me.  Adam,  put  me 
down." 

But  he  only  held  her  closer,  and  laughed  such  a 
happy  laugh  that  Sylvia  felt  the  truth  before  he  ut 
tered  it. 

"  How  could  I  forget  you  even  if  I  had  never  come 
to  tell  you  this  ?  Sylvia,  I  know  much  that  has 
passed.  Geoffrey's  failure  gave  me  courage  to  hope 
for  success,  and  that  the  mute  betrothal  made  with  a 
look  so  long  ago  had  been  to  you  all  it  has  been  to 
me." 

"  Adam,  you  are  both  right  and  wrong,  —  you  do 
not  know  all,  —  let  rne  tell  you,"  began  Sylvia,  as 
these  proofs  of  ignorance  brought  her  to  herself  with 
a  shock  of  recollection  and  dismay.  But  Warwick 
was  as  absolute  in  his  happiness  as  he  had  been  in  his 
self-denial,  and  took  possession  of  her  mentally  as 
well  as  physically  with  a  despotism  too  welcome  and 
entire  to  be  at  once  resisted. 

"  You  shall  tell  me  nothing  till  I  have  shown  the 
cause  of  my  hard-seeming  silence,  I  must  throw  off 
that  burden  first,  then  I  will  listen  to  you  until  morn 
ing  if  you  will.  I  have  earned  this  moment  by  a 


216  MOODS. 

year  of  patience ;  let  me  keep  you  here  and  enjoy  it 
without  alloy." 

The  old  charm  had  lost  none  of  its  power,  for 
absence  seemed  to  have  gifted  it  with  redoubled 
potency,  the  confirmation  of  that  early  hope  to  grace 
it  with  redoubled  warmth.  Sylvia  let  him  keep  her 
close  beside  him,  feeling  that  he  had  earned  that  small 
reward  for  a  year's  endeavor,  resolving  to  grant  all  now 
left  her  to  bestow,  a  few  moments  more  of  blissful  ig 
norance,  then  to  show  him  his  loss  and  comfort  him, 
sure  that  her  husband  would  find  no  disloyalty  in  a 
compassion  scarcely  less  deep  and  self-forgetful  than 
his  own  would  have  been  had  he  shared  their  secret. 
Only  pausing  to  put  off  her  hat  and  turn  her  face  to 
his,  regarding  it  with  such  unfeigned  and  entire  con 
tent  that  she  forgot  everything  but  the  rapid  words 
she  listened  to,  the  countenance  she  watched,  so  beau 
tifully  changed  and  softened  that  it  seemed  as  if  she 
had  never  seen  or  known  the  man  before. 

"  The  night  we  walked  together  by  the  river  —  such 
a  wilful  yet  winning  comrade  as  I  had  that  day,  and 
how  I  enjoyed  it  all !  —  that  night  I  suspected  that 
Geoffrey  loved  you,  Sylvia,  and  was  glad  to  think  it. 
A  month  later  I  was  sure  of  it,  and  found  in  that 
knowledge  the  great  hardship  of  my  life,  because  I 
loved  you  myself.  *  Audacious  thing  !  how  dared  you 
steal  into  my  heart  and  take  possession  when  I  had 
barred  the  door  to  love  ?  You  never  seemed  a  child 
to  me,  Sylvia,  because  you  have  an  old  soul  in  a  young 
body,  and  your  father's  trials  and  temptations  live 


SYLVIA'S  HONEYMOON.  217 

again  in  you.  This  first  attracted  me.  I  liked  to 
watch,  to  question,  to  study  the  human  enigma  to 
which  I  had  found  a  clew  from  its  maker's  lips.  I 
liked  your  candor  and  simplicity,  your  courage  and 
caprice.  Even  your  faults  found  favor  in  my  eyes; 
for  pride,  will,  impetuosity,  were  old  friends  of  mine, 
and  I  liked  to  see  them  working  in  another  shape. 
At  first  you  were  a  curiosity,  then  an  amusement,  then 
a  necessity.  I  wanted  you,  not  occasionally,  but  con 
stantly.  You  put  salt  and  savor  into  life  for  me  ;  for 
whether  you  spoke  or  were  silent,  were  sweet  or  sour, 
friendly  or  cold,  I  was  satisfied  to  feel  your  nearness, 
and  always  took  away  an  inward  content  which  noth 
ing  else  could  give  me.  This  affection  was  so  unlike 
what  I  had  fancied  love  to  be  that  I  deceived  myself 
fora  time  —  not  long.  I  soon  knew  what  had  be 
fallen  me,  soon  felt  that  this  sentiment  was  good  to  feel, 
because  I  forgot  my  turbulent  and  worser  self  and  felt 
the  nobler  regenerated  by  the  innocent  companionship 
you  gave  me.  I  wanted  you,  but  it  was  not  the  touch 
of  hands  or  lips,  the  soft  encounter  of  eyes,  the  tones 
of  tenderness,  I  wanted  most.  It  was  that  something 
beyond  my  reach,  vital  and  vestal,  invisible,  yet  irre 
sistible  ;  that  something,  be  it  heart,  soul,  or  mind, 
which  drew  me  to  you  by  an  attraction  genial  and 
genuine  as  itself.  My  Sylvia,  that  was  love,  and  when 
it  came  to  me  I  took  it  in,  sure  that  whether  its  frui 
tion  was  granted  or  denied  I  should  be  a  manlier  man 
for  having  harbored  it  even  for  an  hour.  Why  turn 
your  face  away  ?  Well,  hide  it  if  you  will,  but  listen, 
for  I  have  much  to  say." 


218  MOODS. 

Still  silent,  Sylvia  listened,  as  she  would  have  done 
to  one  about  to  die. 

"  On  that  September  evening,  as  I  sat  alone,  I  had 
been  thinking  of  what  might  be  and  what  must  be. 
Had  decided  that  I  would  go  away  for  Geoffrey's 
sake.  He  was  fitter  than  I  to  have  you,  being  so 
gentle,  and  in  all  ways  ready  to  possess  a  wife.  I 
was  so  rough,  such  a  vagrant,  so  full  of  my  own  pur 
poses  and  plans,  how  could  I  dare  to  take  into  my 
keeping  such  a  tender  little  creature  as  yourself  ?  I 
thought  you  did  not  care  for  me  ;  I  knew  any  knowl 
edge  of  my  love  would  only  mar  his  own  ;  so  it  was 
best  to  go  at  once  and  leave  him  to  the  happiness  he 
so  well  deserved.  Just  then  you  came  to  me,  as  if 
the  wind  had  blown  my  desire  to  my  arms.  Such  a 
loving  touch  that  was  !  it  nearly  melted  my  resolve, 
and  made  it  very  hard  not  to  take  the  one  thing  I 
wanted  when  it  came  to  me  so  opportunely.  You 
could  not  understand  my  trouble,  and  when  I  sat  be 
fore  you  so  still,  perhaps  looking  grim  and  cold,  you 
did  not  know  how  I  was  wrestling  with  my  unruly 
self.  I  am  riot  truly  generous,  for  the  relinquishment 
of  any  cherished  object  always  costs  a  battle,  and 
I  too  often  find  I  am  worsted.  For  the  first  time  I 
dared  not  meet  your  eyes  till  you  dived  into  mine 
with  that  expression  wistful  and  guileless,  which  has 
often  made  me  feel  as  if  we  stood  divested  of  our 
bodies,  soul  to  soul. 

"  Tongue  I  could  control,  heart  I  could  not.  Up 
it  sprung,  stronger  than  will,  swifter  than  thought, 


SYLVIA'S  HONEYMOON.  219 

and  answered  you.  Sylvia,  had  there  been  one  ray 
of  self-consciousness  in  those  steady  eyes  of  yours, 
one  atom  of  maiden  shame,  or  fear,  or  trouble,  I  should 
have  claimed  you  as  my  own.  There  was  not ;  and 
though  you  let  me  read  your  face  like  an  open  book, 
you  never  dreamed  what  eloquence  was  in  it.  Inno 
cent  heart,  that  loved  and  had  not  learned  to  know 
it !  I  saw  this  instantly,  saw  that  a  few  more  such 
encounters  would  show  it  to  you  likewise,  and  felt 
more  strongly  than  before  that  if  ever  the  just  deed 
to  you,  the  generous  one  to  Geoffrey,  were  done,  it 
should  be  then.  For  that  was  the  one  moment  when 
your  half-awakened  heart  could  fall  painlessly  asleep 
again,  if  I  did  not  disturb  it,  and  dream  on  till 
Geoffrey  woke  it,  to  find  a  gentler  master  than  I  could 
be'  to  it." 

"  It  could  not,  Adam ;  you  had  wholly  roused  it, 
and  it  cried  for  you  so  long,  so  bitterly,  oh,  why  did 
you  not  come  to  answer  it  before  ? " 

"  How  could  I  till  I  heard  that  Geoffrey  had  failed  ? 
He  told  me  he  should  labor  long  and  wait  patiently 
till  he  won  you,  and  I  could  not  doubt  that  he  would 
succeed.  I  went  away  singing  the  farewell  I  dared 
not  speak,  and  for  a  year  have  kept  myself  hard  at 
work.  If  ever  labor  of  mine  is  blessed  it  will  be 
that,  for  into  it  I  put  the  heartiest  endeavor  of  my 
life. 

"  So  strong  was  my  impulse  to  return  to  you  that 
I  put  the  sea  between  us,  for  I  could  not  trust  my 
self,  and  knew  that  Geoffrey  would  write  me  if  he 


220  MOODS. 

failed.  He  did  ;  but,  as  if  Providence  meant  to  teach 
me  patience,  that  one  letter  went  astray  and  never 
reached  me  till  two  weeks  ago." 

"  My  fate  ! "  sighed  Sylvia  bitterly. 

"  No,  my  fault.  I  should  have  written,  but  I  feared 
to  betray  myself  to  Geoffrey.  It  is  hard  to  hide  my 
thoughts  behind  words.  I  knew  he  would  discover  me, 
and  sacrifice  himself.  I  meant  he  should  be  happy 
at  all  costs.  I  did  write  him  before  I  was  to  leave 
on  my  long  voyage ;  but  the  lost  letter  arrived,  and, 
never  waiting  for  his  reply  to  mine,  I  came  as  fast  as 
steam  could  bring  me  to  find  you  and  tell  you  this." 

He  bent  to  give  her  a  tender  welcome  to  eager  heart 
and  arms,  but  Sylvia  arrested  him. 

"  Not  yet,  Adam.  Tell  me  all,  and  then  I  will 
answer  you." 

He  thought  it  was  some  maidenly  scruple,  and 
though  he  smiled  at  it  he  respected  it ;  for  this  coyness 
in  the  midst  of  all  her  whims  had  always  been  one 
of  her  charms  to  him. 

"  Shy  thing !  I  shall  tame  you  yet,  and  draw  you 
to  me  as  confidingly  as  I  drew  the  little  bird  to  hop 
into  my  hand  and  eat.  You  must  not  fear  me,  or  I 
shall  grow  tyrannical ;  for  I  hate  fear,  and  love  to  see 
people  freely  and  bravely  accept  what  belongs  to  them, 
as  I  do  now  to  you." 

"  It  is  not  you  I  fear,  it  is  myself,"  murmured 
Sylvia,  adding  aloud,  anxious  yet  dreading  to  have 
the  story  done,  "  What  led  you  here,  Adam,  hoping 
so  much,  knowing  so  little  ? " 


SYLVIA'S  HONEYMOON.  221 

Warwick  laughed  as  he  shook  the  hair  off  his  broad 
forehead,  and  looked  down  at  her  with  a  look  she 
dared  not  meet. 

"  Do  I  not  always  aim  straight  at  the  end  I  have 
in  view  and  pursue  it  by  the  shortest  roads,  heedless 
of  obstacles  ?  I  often  fail  and  go  back  to  the  slower, 
surer  way ;  but  my  own  is  always  the  one  tried  first 
as  impetuously  as  I  hurled  myself  down  that  path, 
more  as  if  storming  a  battery  than  going  to  meet  my 
sweetheart.  Among  the  persons  I  met  on  landing 
was  a  friend  of  your  father's  :  he  was  driving  away  in 
hot  haste  with  his  son ;  but,  catching  a  glimpse  of  the 
familiar  face,  I  bethought  rne  that  as  it  was  the  season 
for  summer  travel,  you  might  be  away,  he  would  know, 
and  time  be  saved.  I  asked  one  question,  'Where 
are  the  Yules  ? '  He  answered,  as  he  vanished,  '  The 
young  people  are  all  at  the  mountains.'  That  was 
enough,  and,  congratulating  myself  on  the  forethought 
which  would  save  me  some  hundred  miles  of  needless 
delay,  away  I  went,  and  for  days  have  been  searching 
for  you  everywhere  on  that  side  of  these  hills  which 
I  know  so  well.  But  no  Yules  had  passed,  and,  feel 
ing  sure  you  were  on  this  side,  I  came,  not  around, 
but  straight  over,  for  this  seemed  a  royal  road  to  my 
love,  and  here  I  found  her  waiting  for  me  by  the  way. 
Now,  Sylvia,  are  your  doubts  all  answered,  your  fears 
all  laid,  your  heart  at  rest  on  mine  ? " 

As  the  time  drew  nearer,  Sylvia's  task  daunted  her. 
Warwick  was  so  confident,  so  glad  and  tender  over 
her,  it  seemed  like  pronouncing  the  death  doom  to 


222  MOODS. 

say  those  hard  words,  "It  is  too  late."  While  she 
struggled  to  find  some  expression  that  should  tell  all 
kindly  yet  entirely,  Adam,  seeming  to  read  some  hint 
of  her  trouble,  asked,  with  that  new  gentleness  which 
now  overlaid  his  former  abruptness,  and  was  the  more 
alluring  for  the  contrast,  — 

"  Have  I  been  too  arrogant  a  lover  ?  too  sure  of  hap 
piness,  too  blind  to  my  small  deserts  ?  Sylvia,  have 
I  misunderstood  the  greeting  you  have  given  me  ? " 

"  Yes,  Adam." 

He  knit  his  brows,  his  eyes  grew  anxious,  his 
content  seemed  rudely  broken,  but  still  hopefully  he 
said,  — 

"  You  mean  that  absence  has  changed  you,  that 
you  do  not  love  me  as  you  did,  and  pity  made  you 
kind  ?  Well,  I  receive  the  disappointment,  but  I  do 
not  relinquish  my  hope.  What  has  been  may  be  ; 
let  me  try  again  to  earn  you  ;  teach  me  to  be  humble, 
patient,  all  that  I  should  be  to  make  myself  more  dear 
to  you.  Something  disturbs  you ;  be  frank  with  me. 
I  have  shown  you  all  my  heart ;  what  have  you  to 
show  me  in  return  ?  " 

"  Only  this." 

She  freed  herself  entirely  from  his  hold  and  held 
up  her  hand  before  him.  He  did  not  see  the  ring ; 
he  thought  she  gave  him  all  he  asked,  and  with  a 
glow  of  gratitude  extended  both  his  own  to  take  it. 
Then  she  saw  that  delay  was  worse  than  weak,  and 
though  she  trembled  she  spoke  out  bravely,  ending 
his  suspense  at  once,  — 


SYLVIA'S  HONEYMOON.  223 

"  Adam,  I  do  not  love  you  as  I  did,  nor  can  I  wish 
or  try  to  bring  it  back,  because  —  I  am  married." 

He  sprang  up  as  if  shot  through  the  heart,  nor 
could  a  veritable  bullet  from  her  hand  have  daunted 
him  with  a  more  intense  dismay  than  those  three 
words.  An  instant's  incredulity,  then  conviction  came 
to  him,  and  he  met  it  like  a  man ;  for  though  his  face 
whitened  and  his  eye  burned  with  an  expression  that 
wrung  her  heart,  he  demanded  steadily,  — 

"  To  whom,  if  not  to  Geoffrey  ? " 

This  was  the  hardest  question  of  all,  for  well  she 
knew  the  name  would  wound  the  deeper  for  its  dear- 
ness,  since  he  believed  his  friend  had  failed;  and 
while  it  lingered  pitifully  upon  her  lips  its  owner 
answered  for  himself.  Clear  and  sweet  came  up  the 
music  of  the  horn,  bringing  them  a  familiar  air  they 
all  loved,  and  had  often  sung  together.  Warwick 
knew  it  instantly,  felt  the  hard  truth  but  rebelled 
against  it,  and  put  out  his  arm  as  if  to  ward  it  off  as 
he  exclaimed,  with  real  anguish  in  countenance  and 
voice,  — 

"  Sylvia,  it  is  he  ? " 

"  Yes ! " 

Then,  as  if  all  strength  had  gone  out  of  her,  she 
dropped  down  upon  the  mossy  stone  and  covered  up 
her  face,  feeling  that  the  first  sharpness  of  a  pain  like 
this  was  not  for  human  eyes  to  witness.  How  many 
minutes  passed  she  could  not  tell,  the  stillness  of  the 
spot  remained  unbroken  by  any  sound  but  the  whis 
per  of  the  wind,  and  in  this  silence  Sylvia  found  time 


224  MOODS. 

to  marvel  at  the  calmness  which  came  to  her.  Self 
had  been  forgotten  in  surprise  and  sympathy,  and 
still  her  one  thought  was  how  to  comfort  Warwick. 
She  had  expected  some  outburst  of  feeling,  some  gust 
of  anger  or  despair,  but  neither  sigh  nor  sob,  reproach 
nor  regret,  reached  her,  and  soon  she  stole  an  anxious 
glance  to  see  how  it  went  with  him.  He  was  stand 
ing  where  she  left  him,  both  hands  locked  together 
till  they  were  white  with  the  passionate  pressure. 
His  eyes  fixed  on  some  distant  object  with  a  regard 
as  imploring  as  unseeing,  and  through  those  windows 
of  the  soul  he  looked  out  darkly,  not  despairingly; 
but  as  if  sure  that  somewhere  there  was  help  for 
him,  and  he  waited  for  it  with  a  stern  patience  more 
terrible  to  watch  than  the  most  tempestuous  grief. 
Sylvia  could  not  bear  it,  and,  remembering  that  her 
confession  had  not  yet  been  made,  seized  that  instant 
for  the  purpose,  prompted  by  an  instinct  which  as 
sured  her  that  the  knowledge  of  her  pain  would  help 
him  to  bear  his  own. 

She  told  him  all,  and  ended,  saying  imploringly,— 

"  Adam,  how  can  1  comfort  you  ? " 

Sylvia  was  right ;  for  through  the  sorrowful  bewil 
derment  that  brought  a  brief  eclipse  of  hope  and 
courage,  sympathy  reached  him  like  a  friendly  hand 
to  uphold  him  till  he  found  the  light  again.  While 
speaking,  she  had  seen  the  immobility  that  frightened 
her  break  up,  and  Warwick's  whole  face  flush  and 
quiver  with  the  rush  of  emotions  controllable  no 
longer.  But  the  demonstration  which  followed  was 


SYLVIA'S  HONEYMOON.  225 

one  she  had  never  thought  to  see  from  him,  for  when 
she  stretched,  her  hands  to  him  with  that  remorseful 
cry,  she  saw  the  deep  eyes  fill  and  overflow.  Then 
he  threw  himself  down  before  her,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  her  short  life  showed  her  that  sad  type  of 
human  suffering,  a  man  weeping  like  a  woman. 

Warwick  was  one  of  those  whose  passions,  as  his 
virtues,  were  in  unison  with  the  powerful  body  they 
inhabited,  and  in  such  a  crisis  as  the  present  but  one 
of  two  reliefs  was  possible  to  him,  —  either  wrathful 
denunciation,  expostulation,  and  despair,  or  the  aban 
don  of  a  child.  Against  the  former  he  had  been 

O 

struggling  dumbly  till  Sylvia's  words  had  turned  the 
tide;  and,  too  entirely  natural  to  feel  a  touch  of  shame 
at  that  which  is  not  a  weakness  but  a  strength,  too 
wise  to  reject  so  safe  an  outlet  for  so  dangerous  a 
grief,  he  yielded  to  it,  letting  the  merciful  magic  of 
tears  quench  the  fire,  wash  the  first  bitterness  away, 
and  leave  reproaches  only  writ  in  water.  It  was  bet 
ter  so,  and  Sylvia  acknowledged  it  within  herself  as 
she  sat  mute  and  motionless,  softly  touching  the 
brown  head  lying  on  the  moss,  her  poor  consolation 
silenced  by  the  pathos  of  the  sight,  while  through  it 
all  rose  and  fell  the  fitful  echo  of  the  horn,  in  very 
truth  "  a  sweet  reminder  not  to  stray  away  and  lose 
herself."  An  hour  ago  it  would  have  been  a  wel 
come  sound,  for  peak  after  peak  gave  back  the  strain, 
and  airy  voices  whispered  it  until  the  faintest  mur 
mur  died.  But  now  she  let  it  soar  and  sigh  half 
heard,  for  audible  to  her  alone  still  came  its  sad 

15 


226  MOODS. 

accompaniment  of  bitter  human  tears.  To  "Warwick 
it  was  far  more ;  for  Music,  the  comforter,  laid  her 
balm  on  his  sore  heart  as  no  mortal  pity  could  have 
done,  and  wrought  the  miracle  which  changed  the 
friend  who  seemed  to  have  robbed  him  of  his  love  to 
an  unconscious  Orpheus,  who  subdued  the  savage 
and  harmonized  the  man.  Soon  he  was  himself 
again;  for  to  those  who  harbor  the  strong  virtues 
with  patient  zeal,  no  lasting  ill  can  come,  no  afflic 
tion  can  wholly  crush,  no  temptation  wholly  vanquish. 
He  rose  with  eyes  the  clearer  for  their  stormy  rain, 
twice  a  man  for  having  dared  to  be  a  child  again ; 
humbler  and  happier  for  the  knowledge  that  neither 
vain  resentment  nor  unjust  accusation  had  defrauded 
of  its  dignity  the  heavy  hour  that  left  him  desolate 
but  not  degraded. 

"  I  am  comforted,  Sylvia,  rest  assured  of  that.  And 
now  there  is  little  more  to  say,  but  one  thing  to  do. 
I  shall  not  see  your  husband  yet,  and  leave  you  to  tell 
him  what  seems  best ;  for  with  the  instinct  of  an  ani 
mal,  I  always  go  away  to  outlive  my  hurts  alone. 
Bat  remember  that  I  acquit  you  of  blame,  and  be 
lieve  that  I  can  yet  be  happy  in  your  happiness.  I 
know  if  Geoffrey  were  here,  he  would  let  me  do  this, 
because  he  has  suffered  as  I  suffer  now." 

Bending,  he  gathered  her  to  an  embrace  as  differ 
ent  from  that  other  as  despair  is  from  delight,  and 
while  he  held  her  there,  crowding  into  one  short  min 
ute  all  the  pain  and  passion  of  a  year,  she  heard  a 
low,  but  exceeding  bitter  cry,  —  "  Oh,  my  Sylvia !  it 


SYLVIA'S  HONEYMOON.  227 

is  hard  to  give  you  up."  Then,  with  a  solemn  satis 
faction,  which  assured  her  as  it  did  himself,  he  spoke 
out  clear  and  loud,  — 

"  Thank  God  for  the  merciful  Hereafter,  in  which 
we  may  retrieve  the  blunders  we  make  here." 

With  that  he  left  her,  never  turning  till  the  bur 
den  so  joyfully  cast  down  had  been  resumed.  Then, 
staff  and  hat  in  hand,  he  paused  on  the  margin  of 
that  granite  cup,  to  him  a  cup  of  sorrow,  and  looked 
into  its  depths  again.  Clouds  were  trooping  eastward, 
but  in  that  pause  the  sun  glanced  full  on  Warwick's 
figure,  lifting  his  powerful  head  into  a  flood  of  light, 
as  he  waved  his  hand  to  Sylvia  with  a  gesture  of  cour 
age  and  good  cheer.  The  look,  the  act,  the  memories 
they  brought  her,  made  her  heart  ache  with  a  sharper 
pang  than  pity,  and  filled  her  eyes  with  tears  of  im 
potent  regret,  as  she  turned  her  head  as  if  to  chide 
the  blithe  clamor  of  the  horn.  When  she  looked 
again,  the  figure  and  the  sunshine  were  both  gone, 
leaving  her  alone  and  in  the  shadow. 

Her  husband  found  her  sitting  where  he  left  her, 
but  so  pale  it  filled  him  with  anxiety  and  self- 
reproach. 

"  My  poor  child,  you  are  tired  out,  and  this  rarefied 
air  is  too  much  for  you.  We  will  go  down  at  once 
and  you  shall  rest." 

"  Yes,  mountain-tops  are  too  high  for  me ;  I  am 
safer  in  the  valley  with  you,  Geoffrey,"  she  answered, 
clinging  to  his  arm  as  if  quite  spent  with  the  fateful 
hour  that  waked  her  from  a  dream  of  forgetfulness. 


228  MOODS. 

CHAPTEE  XV. 

A  FIRESIDE   FETE. 


to  your  new  home.     May  it  be  a 

^  *  happy  one  to  you,  little  dearest  !  "  said  Moor, 
some  days  later,  as  he  led  her  into  the  old  Manse,  now 
wearing  its  holiday  air  in  honor  of  the  coming  of  a 
mistress. 

"  It  does  not  seem  new  but  very  dear  and  lovely, 
Geoffrey.  I  was  always  happy  here,  and  hope  to  be 
so  now,  if  you  are,"  answered  Sylvia,  with  a  wistful 
look  in  the  eyes  that  wandered  to  and  fro  as  if  seek 
ing  the  peace  she  used  to  find  in  this  tranquil  place. 

"  No  fear  for  me  since  you  are  here.  Now  will  you 
rest  a  little  or  run  about  and  view  your  new  kingdom 
before  you  take  possession  ?  "  asked  Moor,  eager  to 
see  her  in  the  place  he  had  so  often  pictured  her  as 
filling. 

"  Come  and  show  me  everything  yourself.  But, 
Geoffrey,  please  let  all  go  on  as  before  while  I  learn 
to  be  a  housekeeper.  Mrs.  Best  will  like  that,  and 
Prue  won't  worry  over  my  failures  as  she  did  at  home 
when  she  tried  to  teach  me  her  own  thrifty  ways.  I 
had  rather  be  with  you,  if  I  may,  and  not  let  the  prose 
of  married  life  disturb  the  poetry  too  soon.  Do  you 
mind  ?  " 


A  FIRESIDE  FfiTE.  229 

Charmed  with  the  suggestion  and  glad  to  keep  her 
to  himself,  Moor  readily  consented,  and  Sylvia  began 
her  new  life  so  quietly  that  little  seemed  changed 
from  the  old,  except  the  constant  presence  of  the 
friend  who  still  was  more  like  a  lover  than  a  husband, 
and  lived  for  her  alone,  knowing  nothing  of  the  inner 
world  his  young  wife  hid  from  him. 

Of  Warwick's  confession  she  had  never  spoken,  for 
it  came  too  late  to  bring  happiness  to  her,  too  soon  to 
make  it  possible  for  her  to  cloud  Moor's  joy  by  tell 
ing  it.  She  would  be  as  brave  as  Adam,  and  silently 
live  down  importunate  memories,  dangerous  thoughts, 
vain  regrets  ;  folding  the  leaf  over  the  bitter  past, 
trying  to  make  the  present  what  it  should  be,  leaving 
the  future  to  Heaven's  will  submissively. 

The  knowledge  that  she  had  not  given  that  first 
love  of  hers  unsought  soothed  her  pride,  comforted 
her  heart,  and  made  compassion  for  Adam  seem  a 
safe  sentiment  to  cherish,  since  any  softer  one  was 
now  forbidden.  She  had  suffered  so  much  before  that 
now  regret  had  lost  its  sharpest  sting,  renunciation 
grown  easier,  and  a  sincere  desire  to  be  worthy  the 
regard  of  both  the  men  who  loved  her  gave  her  a 
strength  that  for  a  time  at  least  wore  the  semblance 
of  content,  if  not  happiness. 

Max  wondered  at  the  quiet  life  she  preferred,  Prue 
thought  her  wise  to  leave  the  reins  in  Mrs.  Best's  ac 
complished  hands,  and  her  father  hoped  she  was  safely 
anchored  in  a  peaceful  harbor  with  a  very  tender  pi 
lot  to  guard  her  if  storms  came.  It  seemed  a  lovely 


230  MOODS. 

home,  and  those  who  saw  its  proud  master,  its  little 
mistress,  fancied  that  their  future  was  without  a  cloud, 
blessed  as  they  were  with  all  that  makes  this  world  a 
foretaste  of  Heaven. 

But  the  high  mood  which  sustained  Sylvia's  soul 
at  first,  as  the  pure  mountain  air  braced  her  body, 
slowly  lost  its  efficacy  when  the  strain  of  daily  life 
began  to  wear  upon  her  nerves,  and  duty  passed  from 
willing  effort  to  a  constant  struggle  to  forget.  It  was 
possible  for  days,  and  she  would  think  she  had  won 
an  enduring  calm,  when  some  trifle  would  bring  the 
old  pang,  some  truant  thought  would  stray  from  her 
control,  some  involuntary  wish  startle  her  with  a  fear 
of  disloyalty,  and  the  battle  was  all  to  be  fought  over 
again. 

Moor  felt  a  subtle  change  in  her,  indescribable,  yet 
visible,  for  she  seemed  to  have  left  girlhood  behind 
her  with  her  honeymoon,  and  to  be  pausing  on  the 
threshold  of  womanhood,  half  fearing  to  cross  it  and 
assume  the  weightier  duties,  more  sacred  joys,  and 
tenderer  hopes  that  lay  waiting  for  her  beyond.  He 
had  been  a  faithful  friend  and  a  patient  lover,  now  he 
was  a  generous  and  devoted  husband,  leaving  time 
and  tenderness  to  make  her  wholly  his.  He  asked 
no  questions,  made  no  comments,  demanded  no  sac 
rifices,  but  bore  her  moods  as  if  he  loved  her  in  any 
guise  she  chose  to  wear,  and  never  doubted  that  he 
should  one  day  understand  all  that  perplexed  or 
troubled  him  now.  So  three  months  passed,  and  then 
Moor  unconsciously  marred  his  own  peace  by  a  vain 


A    FIRESIDE  FfiTE.  231 

effort  to  please  Sylvia,  whose  growing  ennui  could  not 
escape  his  anxious  eyes. 

"  Just  a  year  to-night  since  a  hard-hearted  little  girl 
said  she  would  not  even  try  to  love  me.  I  thought  she 
would  change  her  mind,  and  this  proves  that  I  was 
right.  Were  you  thinking  of  it  also  ? "  he  asked, 
corning  into  the  study  one  dull  November  evening  to 
find  Sylvia  in  the  great  chair  gazing  at  the  fire  that 
glowed  on  the  wide  hearth. 

She  looked  up  and  smiled,  as  she  always  did  when 
he  joined  her. 

"  ISTo ;  this  splendid  fire  reminded  me  of  another  be 
fore  which  I  once  sat  roasting  corn  and  apples,  and 
telling  stories." 

"  Ah,  that  was  our  voyage  up  the  river.  You  en 
joyed  that  very  much,  I  remember." 

"  Yes,  I  was  a  little  girl  then,  and  felt  so  free,  so 
happy,  it  is  impossible  to  forget  it." 

Sylvia  spoke  honestly,  for  she  was  always  true  when 
it  was  possible,  as  if  the  memory  of  one  secret  made 
her  anxious  to  have  no  more. 

"  Dear  child,  you  speak  as  if  you  had  left  youth  far 
behind  you  and  '  age  had  clawed  you  in  its  clutch/  " 
said  Moor,  leaning  over  the  high  chair-back  to  smooth 
the  wavy  gold  of  the  beloved  head  that  leaned  there. 

"  I  do  feel  very  old  sometimes.  My  responsibilities 
rather  weigh  upon  me,  and  I  want  to  drop  them  for  an 
hour  and  be  a  little  girl  again.  Just  one  of  my  moods ; 
don't  mind  it,  Geoffrey." 

"  Nothing  shall  burden  you  if  I  can  help  it.     Drop 


232  MOODS. 

these  troublesome  responsibilities  now,  and  be  a  little 
girl  again.  I  '11  show  you  how." 

Moor  spoke  so  cheerfully,  looked  so  well  pleased  at 
something,  and  seemed  so  ready  to  grant  her  wish 
that  Sylvia  sat  up  with  an  inquiring  face,  a  lighter 
tone  in  her  quiet  voice. 

"  You  are  always  ready  to  please  me  and  I  'm  very 
grateful,  dear.  What  shall  we  do  ?  You  look  as  if 
you  had  some  nice  little  plan  or  surprise  waiting  to  be 
told." 

"  I  have ;  but  my  surprise  comes  to-morrow,  and  you 
can  amuse  yourself  with  guessing  what  it  is  till  then. 
My  plan  now  is  to  sit  upon  the  rug  and  roast  apples, 
pop  corn,  tell  stories,  and  be  young  again.  It  is  so 
rainy  no  one  will  come,  unless  Max  happens  in,  and 
he  will  give  us  another  comrade.  I  wish  Adam  wera 
here,  then  we  should  have  all  the  actors  in  that  pretty 
little  play  of  ours." 

Sylvia  did  not  echo  the  wish  aloud,  but  as  if  to  es 
cape  from  thought  by  action,  she  sprang  up  eagerly, 
and  Moor,  fancying  the  plan  pleased  her  well,  threw 
himself  heartily  into  it  for  her  sake. 

"  That  sweeping  dress  of  yours  and  the  crown  of  hair 
with  which  you  try  to  make  yourself  look  matronly 
will  never  do  for  the  little  girl.  Run  away  and  chauge 
yourself  into  the  Sylvia  you  were  that  summer,  then 
nothing  will  break  the  illusion.  1 11  put  on  my  garden- 
jacket  and  look  as  much  like  the  old  Geoffrey  as 
possible." 

"  Yes,  do ;  I  always  like  you  so  because  you  look 


A   FIRESIDE  FfiTE.  233 

like  Shelley,  with  the  round  jacket,  the  fine  forehead, 
and  poetic  eyes,"  said  Sylvia,  with  the  affectionate 
pride  which  pleased  him,  though  he  vaguely  felt  its 
lack  of  wifely  warmth. 

"  1 11  write  you  a  poem  in  return  for  that  compli 
ment.  Now  I  must  set  the  stage  and  prepare  for  a 
fireside  fete  which  shall  prove  that  all  the  poetry  is 
not  gone  from  married  life." 

No  lad  could  have  spoken  with  a  blither  face,  for 
Moor  had  preserved  much  of  the  boy  in  spite  of  his 
thirty  years.  His  cheerfulness  was  so  infectious,  that 
Sylvia  already  began  to  forget  her  ennui,  and  hurried 
away  to  do  her  part.  Putting  on  a  short,  girlish  gown, 
kept  for  scrambles  among  the  rocks,  she  braideci  her 
long  hair,  with  butterfly  bows  at  the  ends,  and  impro 
vised  a  pinafore.  When  she  went  down  she  found  her 
husband  in  the  garden-jacket,  collar  turned  over  a  rib 
bon,  hair  in  a  curly  tumble,  and  jackknife  in  hand, 
seated  on  the  rug  before  a  roaring  fire  and  a  semicircle 
of  apples,  whittling  arid  whistling  like  a  very  boy. 
They  examined  one  another  with  mirthful  commenda 
tions,  and  Moor  began  his  part  by  saying,  — 

"  Is  n't  this  jolly  ?  Now  come  and  sit  beside  me, 
and  see  which  will  keep  it  up  the  longest." 

"  What  would  Prue  say  ?  and  who  would  recognize 
the  elegant  Mr.  Moor  in  this  big  boy  ?  Putting- 
dignity  and  broadcloth  aside  makes  you  look  about 
eighteen,  and  very  charming  I  find  you,"  said  Syl 
via,  looking  about  twelve  herself,  and  also  very 
charming. 


234  MOODS. 

"  Here  is  a  wooden  fork  for  you  to  tend  the  roast 
with,  while  I  prepare  a  vegetable  snowstorm.  What 
will  you  have,  little  girl  ?  You  look  as  if  you  wanted 
something  ? " 

"  I  was  only  thinking  that  I  should  have  a  doll  to 
match  your  knife.  I  feel  as  if  I  should  enjoy  trotting 
a  staring  fright  on  my  knee,  and  singing  Hush-a-by. 
But  I  fancy  even  your  magic  cannot  produce  such  a 
thing,  —  can  it,  my  lad  ? " 

"  In  exactly  five  minutes  a  lovely  doll  will  appear, 
though  such  a  thing  has  not  been  seen  in  my  bachelor 
establishment  for  years." 

With  which  mysterious  announcement  Moor  ran 
off,  blundering  over  the  ottomans  and  slamming  the 
doors  as  a  true  boy  should.  Sylvia  pricked  chestnuts, 
and  began  to  forget  her  bosom  trouble  as  she  won 
dered  what  would  come  with  the  impatient  curiosity 
appropriate  to  the  character  she  had  assumed.  Pres 
ently  her  husband  reappeared  with  a  squirming  bundle 
in  his  arms.  Triumphantly  unfolding  a  shawl,  he 
displayed  little  Tilly  in  her  nightgown. 

"  There  is  sorcery  for  you,  and  a  doll  worth  having. 
Being  one  of  the  sort  that  can  shut  its  eyes,  it  was 
going  to  bed,  but  its  mamma  relented  and  lends  it  to 
us  for  an  hour.  She  is  spending  the  night  here,  as  her 
husband  is  away,  so  your  wish  could  easily  be  granted. 
Here  are  some  clothes,  so  you  can  dress  your  dolly  to 
suit  yourself  or  leave  her  as  she  is." 

Sylvia  received  her  pretty  plaything  with  enthusi 
asm,  and  Tilly  felt  herself  suddenly  transported  to  a 


A   FIRESIDE  FfiTE.  235 

baby's  Paradise,  where  beds  were  unknown  and  fruit 
and  freedom  were  her  welcome  portion.  Merrily 
popped  the  corn,  nimbly  danced  the  nuts  upon  the 
shovel,  lustily  remonstrated  the  rosy  martyrs  on  the 
hearth,  and  cheerfully  the  minutes  slipped  away. 
Sylvia  sang  every  jubilant  air  she  knew,  Moor  whistled 
astonishing  accompaniments,  and  Tilly  danced  over 
the  carpet  with  nutshells  on  her  toes,  and  tried  to 
fill  her  little  gown  with  "  pitty  flowers  "  from  its  gar 
lands  and  bouquets.  Without  the  wind  lamented, 
the  sky  wept,  and  the  sea  thundered  on  the  shore ; 
but  within,  youth,  innocence,  and  love  held  their 
blithe  revel  undisturbed. 

"  How  are  the  spirits  now  ? "  asked  one  playmate 
of  the  other. 

"  Quite  merry,  thank  you ;  and  I  should  think  I 
was  little  Sylvia  again  but  for  the  sight  of  this." 

She  held  up  the  hand  that  wore  a  single  ornament ; 
but  the  hand  had  grown  so  slender  since  it  was  first 
put  on,  that  the  ring  would  have  fallen  had  she  not 
caught  it  at  her  finger-tip.  There  was  nothing  of  the 
boy  in  her  companion's  face,  as  he  said,  with  an 
anxious  look,  — 

"  If  you  go  on  thinning  so  fast  I  shall  begin  to 
fear  that  the  little  wife  is  not  happy  with  her  old 
husband.  Is  she,  dear  ?  " 

"She  would  be  a  most  ungrateful  woman  if  she 
were  not.  I  always  get  thin  as  winter  comes  on ;  bat 
I  'm  so  careless  I  11  find  a  guard  for  my  ring  to 
morrow." 


236  MOODS. 

"  No  need  to  wait  till  then ;  wear  this  to  please  me, 
and  let  Marion's  cipher  signify  that  you  are  mine." 

With  a  gravity  that  touched  her  more  than  the 
bestowal  of  so  dear  a  relic,  Moor  unslung  a  signet 
ring  from  his  watchguard,  and  with  some  difficulty 
pressed  it  to  its  place  on  Sylvia's  finger,  a  most  effect 
ual  keeper  for  that  other  ring  whose  tenure  seemed 
so  slight.  She  shrunk  a  little  and  glanced  up  at  him, 
because  his  touch  was  more  firm  than  tender,  and  his 
face  wore  a  masterful  expression  seldom  seen  there ; 
for  instinct,  subtler  than  perception,  prompted  both 
act  and  aspect.  Then  her  eye  fell  and  fixed  upon 
the  dark  stone  with  the  single  letter  engraved  upon 
its  tiny  oval,  and  to  her  it  took  a  double  significance 
as  her  husband  held  it  there,  claiming  her  again,  with 
that  emphatic  "  Mine."  She  did  not  speak,  but 
something  in  her  manner  caused  the  fold  between  his 
brows  to  smooth  itself  away  as  he  regarded  the  small 
hand  lying  passively  in  his,  and  said,  half  playfully, 
half  earnestly,  — 

"  Forgive  me  if  I  hurt  you,  but  you  know  my  woo 
ing  is  not  over  yet ;  and  till  you  love  me  with  real 
love  I  cannot  feel  that  my  wife  is  wholly  mine." 

"  Wait  for  me,  Geoffrey,  a  little  longer,  for  indeed  I 
do  my  best  to  be  all  you  would  have  me." 

Something  brought  tears  into  her  eyes  and  made  her 
lips  tremble,  but  in  a  breath  the  smile  came  back, 
and  she  added  gayly,  — 

"  How  can  I  help  being  grave  sometimes,  and  get 
ting  thin,  with  so  many  housekeeping  cares  upon  my 


A   FIRESIDE  FfiTE.  237 

shoulders,  and  such  an  exacting,  tyrannical  husband 
to  wear  upon  rny  nerves.  Don't  I  look  like  the  most 
miserable  of  wives  ? " 

She  certainly  did  not  as  she  shook  the  popper 
laughingly,  and  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  him,  with 
the  bloom  of  firelight  on  her  cheeks,  its  cheerfulness 
in  her  eyes. 

"  Keep  that  expression  for  every-day  wear,  and  I 
am  satisfied.  I  want  no  tame  Griselda,  but  the  young 
girl  who  once  said  she  was  always  happy  with  me. 
Assure  me  of  that,  and,  having  won  my  Leah,  I  can 
work  and  wait  still  longer  for  my  Eachel.  Bless  the 
baby  !  what  has  she  done  to  herself  now  ? " 

Tilly  had  retired  behind  the  sofa,  after  she  had 
swarmed  over  every  chair  and  couch,  examined  every 
thing  within  her  reach,  on  dtagere  and  table,  embraced 
the  Hebe  in  the  corner,  played  a  fantasia  on  the  piano, 
and  choked  herself  with  the  stopper  of  the  odor  bottle. 
A  doleful  wail  betrayed  her  hiding-place,  and  she 
now  emerged  with  a  pair  of  nut-crackers,  ditto  of 
pinched  fingers,  and  an  expression  of  great  mental 
and  bodily  distress.  Her  woes  vanished  instanta 
neously,  however,  when  the  feast  was  announced, 
and  she  performed  an  unsteady  pas  seul  about  the 
banquet,  varied  by  darts  at  any  unguarded  viand  that 
tempted  her. 

No  ordinary  table  service  would  suit  the  holders  of 
this  fireside  fete.  The  corn  was  heaped  in  a  bronze 
urn,  the  nuts  in  a  graceful  basket,  the  apples  lay  on 
a  plate  of  curiously  ancient  china,  and  the  water 


238  MOODS. 

turned  to  wine  through  the  medium  of  a  purple 
flagon  of  Bohemian  glass.  The  refection  was  spread 
upon  the  rug  as  on  a  flowery  table,  and  all  the  lustres 
were  lighted,  filling  the  room  with  a  festal  glow. 
Prue  would  have  held  up  her  hands  in  dismay,  like 
the  benighted  piece  of  excellence  she  was,  but  Max 
would  have  enjoyed  the  picturesque  group  and 
sketched  a  mate  to  the  Golden  Wedding.  For 
Moor,  armed  with  the  wooden  fork,  did  the  honors ; 
Sylvia,  leaning  on  her  arm,  dropped  corn  after  corn 
into  a  baby  mouth  that  birdlike  always  gaped  for 
more ;  and  Tilly  lay  luxuriously  between  them, 
warming  her  little  feet  as  she  ate  and  babbled  to  the 
flames. 

The  clock  was  on  the  stroke  of  eight,  the  revel  at 
its  height,  when  the  door  opened  and  a  servant  an 
nounced,  — 

"  Miss  Dane  and  Mr.  Warwick." 

An  impressive  pause  followed,  broken  by  a  crow 
from  Tilly,  who  seized  this  propitious  moment  to  bury 
one  hand  in  the  nuts  and  with  the  other  capture  the 
big  red  apple  which  had  been  denied  her.  The  sound 
seemed  to  dissipate  the  blank  surprise  that  had  fallen 
on  all  parties,  and  brought  both  host  and  hostess  to 
their  feet,  the  former  exclaiming  heartily,  — 

"  Welcome,  friends,  to  a  modern  saturnalia  and  the 
bosom  of  the  Happy  Family  !  " 

"  I  know  you  did  not  expect  us  till  to-morrow,  but 
Mr.  Warwick  was  impatient,  I  was  a  little  anxious, 
and  so  we  came  on  at  once,"  said  Miss  Dane,  looking 


A  FIRESIDE  FfiTE.  239 

about  her  as  if  the  cheerful  scene  and  faces  were  the 
reverse  of  what  she  expected  to  find. 

Warwick  also  looked  rather  bewildered  and  very 
anxious.  But  Moor  seemed  quite  satisfied  with  the 
effect  of  his  surprise,  for  he  had  written  to  both  simply 
saying  that  he  wanted  them  at  once. 

"We  are  playing  children  to-night,  so  just  put 
yourselves  back  a  dozen  years,  and  let  us  all  be  merry 
together.  Sylvia,  this  is  the  cousin  of  whom  I  have 
told  you  so  much.  Faith,  here  is  your  new  kins 
woman,  not  as  imposing  as  she  would  have  been  if 
you  had  not  taken  a  base  advantage  of  us.  Little 
dearest,  I  invited  these  friends  because  I  thought  they 
would  do  us  good.  I  wanted  you  to  know  Faith,  and 
could  riot  resist  the  desire  to  catch  Adam  before  he 
set  off  to  the  North  Pole,  if  he  ever  does." 

A  short  stir  ensued  while  hands  were  shaken,  wraps 
put  away,  and  some  degree  of  order  restored  to  the 
room,  then  they  all  sat  down  and  began  to  talk.  With 
well-bred  oblivion  of  the  short  gown  and  long  braids 
of  her  bashful-looking  hostess,  Miss  Dane  suggested 
ai'd  discussed  various  subjects  of  mutual  interest, 
while  Sylvia  tried  to  keep  her  eyes  from  wandering 
to  the  mirror  opposite,  which  reflected  the  figures  of 
her  husband  and  his  friend. 

Warwick  sat  erect  in  the  easy-chair,  for  he  never 
lounged  ;  and  Moor,  still  supporting  his  character, 
was  perched  upon  the  arm,  talking  with  boyish  vi 
vacity.  Every  sense  being  unwontedly  alert,  Sylvia 
found  herself  listening  to  both  guests  at  once,  and 


240  MOODS. 

bearing  her  own  part  in  one  conversation  so  well  that 
occasional  lapses  were  only  attributed  to  natural  em 
barrassment.  What  she  and  Miss  Dane  said  she 
never  remembered;  what  the  other  pair  talked  of  she 
never  forgot.  The  first  words  she  caught  were  her 
husband's. 

"  You  see  I  have  begun  to  live  for  myself,  Adam." 

"  I  also  see  that  it  agrees  with  you  excellently." 

"  Better  than  so  much  solitude  does  with  you. 
"What  have  you  been  at  to  get  this  gaunt,  uncanny 
look,  Adam?" 

"  Carrying  on  the  old  fight  with  the  world,  the  flesh, 
and  the  devil,  and  getting  the  worst  of  it  some 
times." 

"  Then  it  will  be  good  for  you  to  rest  a  little  in  a 
friend's  house.  You  should  not  have  waited  to  be 
asked.  Eemember  that  whatever  changes  come  to 
me,  my  home  is  always  yours." 

"  I  know  it,  but  I  feared  to  disturb  your  happiness. 
Your  brief  note  alarmed  me,  for  I  thought  something 
must  be  amiss,  and  hurried  to  you  at  once." 

"I  thought  that  mysterious  message  would  bring 
you.  Peace  reigns  here,  as  you  see,  but  I  fancied 
Sylvia  needed  more  society ;  she  is  hard  to  please, 
and  I  knew  you  and  Faith  would  suit  her.  No  need 
to  tell  how  glad  I  am  to  see  my  two  best  friends  under 
my  roof." 

"Was  it  wise  to  surprise  her?  Are  you  sure  she 
will  like  it  ?"  asked  Warwick,  with  such  unaccus 
tomed  doubt  and  hesitation  that  Moor  laughed,  and 


A   FIRESIDE  FfiTE.  241 

pulled  a  lock  of  the  brown  mane  as  if  to  tease  the  lion 
into  a  display  of  the  self-confidence  and  composure 
he  seemed  to  have  lost. 

"  How  shy  you  are  of  speaking  the  new  name ! 
1  She '  will  like  it,  I  assure  you,  for  she  makes  my 
friends  hers.  Sylvia,  come  here,  and  tell  Adam  he  is 
welcome  ;  he  dares  to  doubt  it.  Come  and  talk  ever 
old  times  while  I  do  the  same  with  Faith." 

She  went,  trembling  inwardly,  but  outwardly  com 
posed,  for  she  took  refuge  in  one  of  those  common 
place  acts  which  in  such  moments  we  gladly  perform, 
and  bless  in  our  secret  souls.  She  had  often  wondered 
where  they  would  next  meet,  and  how  she  should 
comport  herself  at  such  a  trying  time.  She  had 
never  imagined  that  he  would  come  in  this  way,  or 
that  a  hearth-brush  would  save  her  from  the  betrayal 
of  emotion.  So  it  was,  however,  and  an  involuntary 
smile  passed  over  her  face  as  she  managed  to  say 
quite  naturally,  while  brushing  the  nutshells  tidily 
out  of  sight,  — 

"  You  know  you  are  always  welcome,  Mr.  Warwick. 
'  Adam's  Koom/  as  we  call  it,  is  always  ready,  and 
Geoffrey  was  wishing  for  you  only  yesterday." 

"  I  am  sure  of  his  satisfaction  at  my  coming,  can  I 
be  equally  sure  of  yours  ?  May  I,  ought  I  to  stay  ? " 

He  leaned  forward  as  he  spoke,  with  an  eager,  yet 
submissive  look,  that  Sylvia  dared  not  meet,  and  in 
her  anxiety  to  preserve  her  self-possession,  she  forgot 
that  to  this  listener  every  uttered  word  became  a 
truth,  because  his  own  were  always  so. 

16 


242  MOODS. 

"  Why  not,  if  you  can  bear  our  quiet  life,  for  we 
are  a  Darby  and  Joan  already,  though  we  do  not  look 
so  to-night,  I  acknowledge." 

Men  seldom  understand  the  subterfuges  women  in 
stinctively  use  to  conceal  many  a  natural  emotion 
which  they  are  not  strong  enough  to  control,  not 
brave  enough  to  confess.  To  Warwick,  Sylvia  seemed 
almost  careless,  her  words  a  light  answer  to  the  real 
meaning  of  his  question,  her  smile  one  of  tranquil 
welcome.  Her  manner  wrought  an  instant  change  in 
him,  and  when  he  spoke  again  he  was  the  Warwick 
of  a  year  ago. 

"  I  hesitated,  Mrs.  Moor,  because  I  have  sometimes 
heard  young  wives  complain  that  their  husbands' 
friends  were  marplots,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  be 
one." 

This  speech,  delivered  with  frosty  gravity,  made 
Sylvia  as  cool  and  quiet  as  itself.  She  put  her  ally 
down,  looked  full  at  Warwick,  and  said  with  a  blend 
ing  of  dignity  and  cordiality  which  even  the  pina 
fore  could  not  destroy,  — 

"  Whatever  pleases  Geoffrey  pleases  me.  Do  not 
let  my  presence  here  make  him  inhospitable  to  old 
friends." 

"  Thanks  ;  and  now  that  the  hearth  is  scrupulously 
clean  may  I  offer  you  a  chair  ?  " 

The  old  keenness  was  in  his  eye,  the  old  firmness 
about  the  mouth,  as  Warwick  presented  the  seat,  with 
an  inclination  that  to  her  seemed  ironical.  She  sat 
down,  but  when  she  cast  about  her  mind  for  some  safe 


A   FIRESIDE  FfiTE.  243 

and  easy  topic  to  introduce,  every  idea  had  fled ;  even 
memory  and  fancy  turned  traitors  ;  not  a  lively  sally 
could  be  found,  not  a  pleasant  remembrance  returned 
to  help  her,  and-  she  sat  dumb.  Before  the  dreadful 
pause  grew  awkward,  however,  rescue  came  in  the 
form  of  Tilly.  Nothing  daunted  by  the  severe  sim 
plicity  of  her  little  wrapper,  she  planted  herself  be 
fore  Warwick,  and,  shaking  her  hair  out  of  her  eyes, 
stared  at  him  with  an  inquiring  glance  and  cheeks  as 
red  as  her  apple.  She  seemed  satisfied  in  a  moment, 
and  climbing  to  his  knee  established  herself  there, 
coolly  taking  possession  of  his  watch,  and  examining 
the  brown  beard  curiously  as  it  parted  with  the  white 
Hash  of  teeth,  when  Warwick  smiled  his  warmest 
smile. 

"  This  recalls  the  night  you  fed  the  sparrow  in  your 
hand.  Do  you  remember,  Adam  ? "  and  Sylvia  looked 
and  spoke  like  her  old  self  again. 

"  I  seldom  forget  anything.  But  pleasant  as  that 
hour  was  this  is  more  to  me,  for  the  bird  flew  away*, 
the  baby  stays  and  gives  me  what  I  need." 

He  wrapped  the  child  closer  in  his  arms,  leaned  his 
dark  head  on  the  bright  one,  and  took  the  little  feet 
into  Ids  hand  with  a  fatherly  look  that  caused  Tilly  to 
pat  his  cheek  and  begin  an  animated  recital  of  some 
nursery  legend,  which  ended  in  a  sudden  gape,  re 
minding  Sylvia  that  one  of  her  guests  was  keeping  late 
hours. 

"  What  comes  next  ? "  asked  Warwick. 

"  Now  I  lay  me,  and  byelow  in  the  trib,"  answered 


244  MOODS. 

Tilly,  stretching  herself  over  his  arm  with  a  great 
yawn. 

Warwick  kissed  the  rosy  half-open  mouth,  and 
seemed  loath  to  part  with  the  pious  baby,  for  he  took 
the  shawl  Sylvia  brought  and  did  up  the  drowsy 
bundle  himself.  While  so  busied  she  stole  a  furtive 
glance  at  him,  having  looked  without  seeing  before. 
Thinner  and  browner,  but  as  strong  as  ever  was  the  fa 
miliar  face  she  saw,  yet  neither  sad  nor  stern,  for  the 
grave  gentleness  which  had  been  a  fugitive  expression 
before  now  seemed  habitual.  This,  with  a  slow  drop 
ping  of  the  eyes,  as  if  an  inward  life  absorbed  him 
more,  were  the  only  tokens  of  the  sharp  experience  he 
had  been  passing  through.  Born  for  conflict  and  en 
durance,  he  seemed  to  have  manfully  accepted  the 
sweet  uses  of  adversity  and  grown  the  richer  for  his 
loss. 

Those  who  themselves  are  quick  to  suffer  are  also 
quick  to  see  the  marks  of  suffering  in  others ;  that 
hasty  scrutiny  assured  Sylvia  of  all  she  had  yearned 
to  know,  yet  wrung  her  heart  with  a  pity  the  deeper 
for  its  impotence.  Tilly's  heavy  head  drooped  be 
tween  her  bearer  and  the  light  as  they  left  the  room, 
but  in  the  dusky  hall  a  few  hot  tears  fell  on  the  baby's 
hair,  and  her  new  nurse  lingered  long  after  the  lullaby 
was  done.  When  she  reappeared  the  girlish  dress 
was  gone,  and  she  was  Madam  Moor  again,  as  her 
husband  called  her  when  she  assumed  the  stately  air 
and  trailing  silks  that  failed  to  make  a  matron  of  her. 
All  smiled  at  the  change,  but  he  alone  spoke  of  it. 


A   FIRESIDE  FfiTE.  245 

"  I  win  the  applause,  Sylvia ;  for  I  sustain  my 
character  to  the  end,  while  you  give  up  before  the 
curtain  falls,  You  are  not  so  good  an  actress  as  I 
thought  you." 

Sylvia's  smile  was  sadder  than  her  tears  as  she 
briefly  answered,  — 

"  No ;  I  find  I  cannot  be  a  child  again." 


246  MOODS. 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

EARLY    AND    LATE, 

ONE  of  Sylvia's  first  acts  when  she  rose  was  most 
significant.  She  shook  down  her  abundant  hair, 
carefully  arranged  a  part  in  thick  curls  over  cheeks 
and  forehead,  gathered  the  rest  into  its  usual  coil,  and 
said  to  herself,  as  she  surveyed  her  face  half  hidden  in 
the  shining  cloud,  — 

"  It  looks  very  sentimental,  and  I  hate  the  weak 
ness  that  drives  me  to  it,  but  it  must  be  done,  because 
my  face  is  such  a  traitor.  Poor  Geoffrey !  he  said  I 
was  no  actress  ;  I  am  learning  fast." 

Why  every  faculty  seemed  sharpened,  every  object 
assumed  an  unwonted  interest,  and  that  quiet  hour 
possessed  an  excitement  that  made  her  own  room  and 
countenance  look  strange  to  her,  she  would  not  ask 
herself,  as  she  paused  on  the  threshold  of  the  door  to 
ascertain  if  her  guests  were  stirring.  Nothing  was 
heard  but  the  sound  of  regular  footfalls  on  the  walk 
before  the  door,  and  with  an  expression  of  relief,  she 
slowly  went  down.  Moor  was  taking  his  morning 
walk  bareheaded  in  the  sun.  Usually  Sylvia  ran  to 
join  him,  but  now  she  stood  musing  on  the  steps,  until 
he  saw  and  came  to  her.  As  he  offered  the  flower 
always  ready  for  her,  he  said  smiling,  — 


EARLY  AND  LATE.  247 

"  Did  the  play  last  night  so  captivate  you  that  you 
go  back  to  the  curls  because  you  cannot  keep  the 
braids?" 

"  A  sillier  whim  than  that,  even.  I  am  afraid  of 
those  two  people ;  and  as  I  am  so  quick  to  show  my 
feelings  in  my  face,  I  intend  to  hide  behind  this  veil 
if  I  get  shy  or  troubled.  Did  you  think  I  could  be 
so  artful  ? " 

"Your  craft  amazes  me.  But,  dearest  child,  you 
need  not  be  afraid  of  Faith  and  Adam.  Both  already 
love  you  for  my  sake,  and  soon  will  for  your  own. 
Both  are  so  much  older  that  they  can  easily  overlook 
any  little  shortcoming,  in  consideration  of  your  youth. 
Sylvia,  I  want  to  tell  you  something  which  will  both 
amuse  and  interest  you,  I  hope.  Faith  wrote  me 
some  time  ago  that  she  had  met  Adam,  and  found  him 
all  I  had  told  her.  He  also  sent  me  a  message  once, 
that  he  had  discovered  a  superior  woman,  who  sym 
pathized  in  his  ideas  and  purposes.  I  mentioned  it 
at  the  time  to  you,  I  think  ?  We  so  seldom  hear 
from  this  nomadic  fellow  that  news  is  an  event." 

"  Yes,  I  remember." 

Sylvia's  head  was  bent  as  if  to  enjoy  the  sweetness 
of  the  flower  she  held,  and  all  her  husband  saw  was 
the  bright  hair  blowing  in  the  wind. 

"  Now  you  will  laugh,  for  I  confess  that,  being  very 
happy  myself,  I  took  it  into  my  head  that  these  two 
fine  creatures  belonged  to  one  another,  and  only  needed 
a  little  gentle  management  to  find  it  out.  I  wanted 
to  see  them  together,  so  invited  them  here,  knowing 


248  MOODS. 

you  would  enjoy  them,  and  hoping  they  would  take  a 
hint  from  us  and  go  and  do  likewise." 

"  God  forbid  ! "  thought  Sylvia.  The  pathetic  un 
consciousness  of  her  husband  filled  her  with  new 
remorse,  and  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  wish  War 
wick  the  shadow  of  happiness  which  she  vainly  tried 
to  change  into  its  substance. 

"  I  never  thought  you  would  turn  match-maker, 
Geoffrey.  Is  n't  it  a  dangerous  part  to  play  ? "  she 
asked,  half  wishing  some  insurmountable  barrier  might 
rise  between  her  and  the  man  whose  presence  always 
dominated  her  will  and  excited  her  heart. 

"  Not  as  I  shall  play  it,  and  you  can  help*  I  fancy 
Adam  already  feels  the  hand  of  the  great  tamer,  and 
that  explains  the  new  gentleness  1  see  in  him.  I  in 
tend  to  study  him  and  satisfy  myself  of  this.  You 
must  say  a  good  word  for  him  to  Faith,  as  you  women 
so  well  know  how  to  do.  You  like  and  believe  in 
him;  paint  him  in  your  vivid,  happy  way,  and  help 
her  to  know  him.  A  mate  like  Faith  is  what  he  needs 
to  perfect  him,  and  we  can  show  him  this  unless  I  am 
greatly  mistaken." 

"  Perhaps  for  all  his  blindness  Geoffrey  is  right ; 
perhaps  in  this  way  I  may  atone  for  the  pain  I  have 
given  Adam.  Heaven  help  rne  to  do  my  duty  and 
forget  myself,"  thought  Sylvia,  feeling  as  if  a  new 
page  in  the  tragic  romance  of  her  life  was  turned  for 
her  by  the  hand  that  tried  to  make  it  a  tender,  happy 
story  for  them  all. 

"  I  had  best  not  meddle,  Geoffrey,  I  am  so  ignorant, 


EARLY  AND  LATE.  249 

so  unlucky.  Let  me  see  you  play  the  good  genius 
and  not  risk  spoiling  your  work." 

"  I  think  you  will  soon  be  glad  to  lend  a  hand ; 
most  women  find  it  impossible  to  abstain.  I  mean 
to  make  the  week  very  pleasant  to  them  both.  Adam 
shall  revisit  his  old  haunts,  and  we  will  show  Faith 
ours.  In  the  evening  we  will  have  Prue,  Max,  and 
Jessie  over  here,  or  all  go  and  entertain  your  father ; 
so  the  days  shall  be  busy  and  the  nights  cheerful  with 
the  sort  of  pleasure  we  all  like  best.  Faith  longs  to 
know  you,  and  I  am  sure  she  is  the  friend  you  need 
to  fill  a  place  I  cannot  fill." 

A  touch  of  regret  made  the  last  word  a  little  sad, 
and  Sylvia  felt  it  like  a  keen  reproach ;  but  less  now 
than  ever  could  she  tell  the  secret  that  would  destroy 
her  husband's  peace  and  mar  all  his  happy  hopes 
for  others.  With  an  earnest  longing  to  find  Faith  all 
he  suggested,  she  answered  with  a  look  of  satisfaction 
that  gratified  Moor  more  than  her  words,  — 

"  I  know  that  I  shall  love  her ;  and  if  I  need  any 
one  beside  you,  dear,  she  shall  help  me  to  be  what  I 
oaght,  to  make  you  as  happy  as  I  wish  you.  Now  let 
us  speak  of  something  else,  or  my  telltale  face  will 
betray  that  we  have  been  talking  of  our  guests,  when 
we  meet  them." 

They  did  so,  and  as  Warwick  parted  his  curtains, 
the  first  sight  he  saw  was  his  friend  walking  in  the 
sunshine  with  the  young  wife  who  hung  upon  his  arm 
as  if  she  loved  to  lean  there  listening  to  his  voice. 

For  a  moment  Adam's  face  was  darkened  by  a 


250  MOODS. 

shadow,  then  it  passed,  as  he  bravely  accepted  the 
seeming  truth,  and  turned  to  join  them,  saying  to 
himself,  — 

"  Geoffrey  is  happy  and  she  is  learning  to  forget. 
I  may  venture  to  stay  since  I  am  here.  I  can  trust 
myself,  and  perhaps  give  them  some  pleasure." 

In  pursuance  of  his  plan  Moor  took  Adam  out  for 
a  long  tramp  soon  after  breakfast,  and  Sylvia  devoted 
herself  to  Miss  Dane.  In  the  absence  of  the  greater 
interest  she  enjoyed  the  lesser,  soon  felt  at  ease,  and 
began  to  study  her  new  relative. 

Faith  was  thirty,  shapely  and  tall,  with  much  na 
tive  dignity  of  carriage,  and  a  face  singularly  attrac 
tive  from  its  mild  and  earnest  beauty.  Looking  at 
her  one  felt  assured  that  here  was  a  right  womanly 
woman,  gentle,  just,  and  true;  possessed  of  a  well- 
balanced  mind,  a  self-reliant  soul,  and  that  fine  gift- 
which  is  so  rare,  the  power  of  a  noble  character  to  act 
as  a  touchstone  to  all  who  approached,  forcing  them 
to  rise  or  fall  to  their  true  level,  unconscious  of  the 
test  applied.  Her  presence  was  comfortable,  her  voice 
had  motherly  tones  in  it,  her  eyes  a  helpful  look. 
Even  the  soft  hue  of  her  dress,  the  brown  gloss  of  her 
hair,  the  graceful  industry  of  her  hands,  had  their  at 
tractive  influence.  Sylvia  saw  and  felt  these  things 
with  the  quickness  of  her  susceptible  temperament, 
and  found  herself  so  warmed  and  won,  that  soon  it 
cost  her  an  effort  to  withhold  anything  that  tried  or 
troubled  her,  for  Faith  was  a  born  consoler,  and  Syl 
via's  heart  was  full. 


EARLY  AND  LATE.  251 

However  gloomy  her  day  might  have  been,  she  al 
ways  brightened  in  the  evening  as  naturally  as  moths 
begin  to  flutter  when  candles  come.  On  the  evening  of 
this  day,  the  friendly  atmosphere  about  her  and  the 
excitement  of  Warwick's  presence  so  affected  her,  that 
though  the  gayety  of  girlhood  was  quite  gone  she 
looked  as  softly  brilliant  as  some  late  flower  that  has 
gathered  the  summer  to  itself  and  gives  it  out  again 
in  the  bloom  and  beauty  of  a  single  hour. 

When  tea  was  over  (for  heroes  and  heroines  must 
eat  if  they  are  to  do  anything  worth  the  paper  on 
which  their  triumphs  and  tribulations  are  recorded), 
the  women  gathered  about  the  library  table,  work  in 
hand,  as  female  tongues  go  easier  when  their  fingers 
are  occupied.  Sylvia  left  Prue  and  Jessie  to  enjoy 
Faith,  and  while  she  fabricated  some  trifle  with  scarlet 
silk  and  an  ivory  shuttle,  she  listened  to  the  conver 
sation  of  the  gentlemen  who  roved  about  the  room 
till  a  remark  of  Prue's  brought  the  party  together. 

"  Helen  Chesterfield  has  run  away  from  her  husband 
in  the  most  disgraceful  manner." 

Max  and  Moor  drew  near,  Adam  leaned  on  the 
chimney-piece,  the  workers  paused,  and,  having  pro 
duced  her  sensation,  Prue  proceeded .  to  gratify  their 
curiosity  as  briefly  as  possible ;  for  all  knew  the  parties 
in  question,  and  all  waited  anxiously  to  hear  par 
ticulars. 

"  She  married  a  Frenchman  old  enough  to  be  her 
father,  but  very  rich.  She  thought  she  loved  him, 
but  when  she  got  tired  of  her  fine  establishment,  and 


252  MOODS. 

the  novelties  of  Paris,  she  found  she  did  not,  and  was 
miserable.  Many  of  her  new  friends  had  lovers,  so  why 
should  not  she ;  and  presently  she  began  to  amuse 
herself  with  this  Louis  Gustave  Isadore  Theodule  de 
Trouville  —  there  's  a  name  for  a  Christian  man ! 
Well,  she  began  in  play,  grew  in  earnest,  and  when 
she  could  bear  her  domestic  trouble  no  longer  she 
just  ran  away,  ruining  herself  for  this  life,  and  really 
I  don't  know  but  for  the  next  also." 

"  Poor  soul !  I  always  thought  she  was  a  fool,  but 
upon  my  word  I  pity  her,"  said  Max. 

"  Ptemember  she  was  very  young,  so  far  away  from 
her  mother,  with  no  real  friend  to  warn  and  help  her, 
and  love  is  so  sweet.  No  wonder  she  went." 

"  Sylvia,  how  can  you  excuse  her  in  that  way  ? 
She  should  have  done  her  duty  whether  she  loved  the 
old  gentleman  or  not,  and  kept  her  troubles  to  herself 
in  a  proper  manner.  You  young  girls  think  so  much 
of  love,  so  little  of  moral  obligations,  decorum,  and 
the  opinions  of  the  world,  you  are  not  fit  judges  of 
the  case.  Mr.  Warwick  agrees  with  me,  I  am  sure." 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Helen  should  have  left 
her  husband  ? "  . 

"  Certainly,  if  she  could  not  love  him." 

"  Do  you  also  mean  to  say  that  she  did  right  to  run 
off  with  that  Gustave  Isadore  Theodule  creature  ? " 

"  By  no  means.  It  is  worse  than  folly  to  attempt 
the  righting  of  one  wrong  by  the  commission  of 
another." 


EARLY  AND  LATE.  253 

"  Then  what  in  the  world  should  she  have  done  ? " 

"  She  should  have  honestly  decided  which  she  loved, 
have  frankly  told  the  husband  the  mistake  both  had 
made,  and  demanded  her  liberty.  If  the  lover  was 
worthy,  have  openly  married  him  and  borne  the 
world's  censures.  If  not  worthy,  have  stood  alone, 
an  honest  woman  in  God's  eyes,  whatever  the  blind 
world  might  have  thought." 

Prue  was  scandalized  to  the  last  degree ;  for  with 
her  marriage  was  more  a  law  than  a  gospel,  —  a  law 
which  ordained  that  a  pair  once  yoked  should  abide 
by  their  bargain,  be  it  good  or  ill,  and  preserve  the 
proprieties  in  public  no  matter  how  hot  a  hell  their 
home  might  be  for  them  and  for  their  children. 

"  What  a  dreadful  state  society  would  be  in  if  your 
ideas  were  adopted  !  People  would  constantly  be 
finding  out  that  they  were  mismatched,  and  go  run 
ning  about  as  if  playing  that  game  where  every  one 
changes  places.  I  'd  rather  die  at  once  than  live  to 
see  such  a  state  of  things  as  that,"  said  the  worthy 
spinster. 

:  So  would  I,  and  recommend  prevention  rather 
than  a  dangerous  cure." 

<:  I  really  should  like  to  hear  your  views,  Mr.  War 
wick,  for  you  quite  take  my  breath  away." 

Much  to  Sylvia's  surprise  Adam  appeared  to  like 
the  subject,  and  placed  his  views  at  Prue's  disposal 
with  alacrity. 

"  I  would  begin  at  the  beginning,  and  teach  young 
people  that  marriage  is  not  the  only  aim  and  end  of 


254  MOODS. 

life,  yet  would  fit  them  for  it  as  for  a  sacrament  too 
high  and  holy  to  be  profaned  by  a  light  word  or 
thought.  Show  them  how  to  be  worthy  of  it  and 
how  to  wait  for  it.  Give  them  a  law  of  life  both 
cheerful  and  sustaining ;  a  law  that  shall  keep  them 
hopeful  if  single,  sure  that  here  or  hereafter  they  will 
find  that  other  self  and  be  accepted  by  it;  happy 
if  wedded,  for  their  own  integrity  of  heart  will  teach 
them  to  know  the  true  god  when  he  comes,  and  keep 
them  loyal  to  the  last." 

"  That  is  all  very  excellent  and  charming,  but  what 
are  the  poor  souls  to  do  who  have  n't  been  educated 
in  this  fine  way  ? "  asked  Prue. 

"  Unhappy  marriages  are  the  tragedies  of  our  day, 
and  will  be,  till  we  learn  that  there  are  truer  laws  to 
be  obeyed  than  those  custom  sanctions,  other  obstacles 
than  inequalities  of  fortune,  rank,  and  age.  Because 
two  persons  love,  it  is  not  always  safe  or  wise  for 
them  to  marry,  nor  need  it  necessarily  wreck  their 
peace  to  live  apart.  Often  what  seems  the  best  affec 
tion  of  our  hearts  does  more  for  us  by  being  thwarted 
than  if  granted  its  fulfilment  and  proved  a  failure 
which  imbitters  two  lives  instead  of  sweetening 
one," 

He  paused  there ;  but  Prue  wanted  a  clearer  answer, 
and  turned  to  Faith,  sure  that  the  woman  would  take 
her  own  view  of  the  matter. 

"  Which  of  us  is  right,  Miss  Dane,  in  Helen's 
case  ? " 

"  I  cannot  venture  to  judge  the  young  lady,  know- 


EARLY  AND  LATE.  255 

ing  so  little  of  her  character  or  the  influences  that 
have  surrounded  her,  and  believing  that  a  certain 
divine  example  is  best  for  us  to  follow  at  such  times. 
I  agree  with  Mr.  Warwick,  but  not  wholly,  for  his 
summary  mode  of  adjustment  would  not  be  quite  just 
nor  right  in  all  cases.  If  both  find  that  they  do  not 
love,  the  sooner  they  part  the  wiser;  if  one  alone 
makes  the  discovery,  the  case  is  sadder  still,  and 
harder  for  either  to  decide.  But  as  I  speak  from 
observation  only,  my  opinions  are  of  little  worth." 

"  Of  great  worth,  Miss  Dane  ;  for  to  women  like 
yourself  observation  often  does  the  work  of  experi 
ence,  and  despite  your  modesty  I  wait  to  hear  the 
opinions." 

Warwick  spoke,  arid  spoke  urgently,  for  the  effect 
of  all  this  upon  Sylvia  was  too  absorbing  a  study  to  be 
relinquished  yet.  As  he  turned  to  her,  Faith  gave 
him  an  intelligent  glance,  and  answered  like  one 
speaking  with  intention  and  to  some  secret  but  seri 
ous  issue,  — 

"  You  shall  have  them.  Let  us  suppose  that  Helen 
was  a  woman  possessed  of  a  stronger  character,  a 
deeper  nature  ;  the  husband  a  younger,  nobler  man ; 
the  lover  truly  excellent,  and  above  even  counselling 
the  step  this  pair  have  taken.  In  a  case  like  that  the 
wife,  having  promised  to  guard  another's  happiness, 
should  sincerely  endeavor  to  do  so,  remembering  that 
in  making  the  joy  of  others  we  often  find  our  own, 
and  that  having  made  so  great  a  mistake  the  other 
should  not  bear  all  the  loss.  If  there  be  a  strong 


256  MOODS. 

attachment  on  the  husband's  part,  and  he  a  man 
worthy  of  affection  and  respect,  who  has  given  him 
self  confidingly,  believing  himself  beloved  by  the  wo 
man  he  so  loves,  she  should  leave  no  effort  unmade, 
no  self-denial  unexacted,  till  she  has  proved  beyond 
all  doubt  that  it  is  impossible  to  be  a  true  wife.  Then, 
and  not  till  then,  has  she  the  right  to  dissolve  the  tie 
that  has  become  a  sin,  because  where  no  love  lives 
inevitable  suffering  and  sorrow  enter  in,  falling  not 
only  upon  guilty  parents,  but  the  innocent  children 
who  may  be  given  them." 

"  And  the  lover,  what  of  him  ? "  asked  Adam,  still 
intent  upon  his  purpose  ;  for  though  he  looked  steadily 
at  Faith,  he  knew  that  Sylvia  drove  the  shuttle  in 
and  out  with  a  desperate  industry  that  made  her 
silence  significant  to  him. 

"  I  would  have  the  lover  suffer  and  wait ;  sure  that, 
however  it  may  fare  with  him,  he  will  be  the  richer 
and  the  better  for  having  known  the  joy  and  pain  of 
love." 

"Thank  you."  And  to  Max's  surprise  Warwick 
bowed  gravely,  and  Miss  Dane  resumed  her  work 
with  a  preoccupied  air. 

"  Well,  for  a  confirmed  celibate,  it  strikes  me  you 
take  a  remarkable  interest  in  matrimony,"  said  Max. 
"  Or  is  it  merely  a  base  desire  to  speculate  upon  the 
tribulations  of  your  fellow-beings,  and  congratulate 
yourself  upon  your  escape  from  them  ? " 

*"  Neither ;    I  not  only  pity  and  long  to  alleviate 
them,  but  have  a  strong   desire  to   share   them,  for 


EARLY  AND  LATE.  257 

the  wish  of  my  life  for  the  last  year  has  been  to 
rnarry." 

Outspoken  as  Warwick  was  at  all  times  and  on  all 
subjects,  there  was  something  in  this  avowal  that 
touched  those  present,  for  with  the  words  a  quick  ris 
ing  light  and  warmth  illuminated  his  whole  counte 
nance,  and  the  energy  of  his  desire  tuned  his  voice  to 
a  key  which  caused  one  heart  to  beat  fast,  one  pair  of 
eyes  to  fill  with  sudden  tears.  Moor  could  not  see 
his  friend's  face,  but  he  saw  Max's,  divined  the  indis 
creet  inquiry  hovering  on  his  lips,  and  arrested  it  with 
a  warning  gesture. 

Prue  spoke  first,  very  much  disturbed  by  having 
her  prejudices  and  opinions  opposed,  and  very  anxious 
to  prove  herself  in  the  right. 

"  Max  and  Geoffrey  look  as  if  they  agreed  with  Mr. 
"Warwick  in  his  —  excuse  me  if  I  say,  dangerous 
ideas ;  but  I  fancy  the  personal  application  of  them 
would  change  their  minds.  Now,  Max,  just  look  at 
it ;  suppose  some  one  of  Jessie's  lovers  should  dis 
cover  an  affinity  for  her,  and  she  for  him,  what  would 
you  do  ? " 

"  Shoot  him  or  myself,  or  all  three,  and  make  a 
neat  little  tragedy  of  it." 

"  There  is  no  getting  a  serious  answer  from  you,  and 
I  wonder  I  ever  try.  Geoffrey,  I  put  the  case  to  you ; 
if  Sylvia  should  find  she  adored  Julian  Haize,  wh$  fell 
ill  when  she  was  married,  you  know,  and  should  in 
form  you  of  that  agreeable  fact  some  fine  day,  should 
you  think  it  quite  reasonable  and  right  to  say,  "  Go, 
my  dear ;  I  'm  very  sorry,  but  it  can't  be  helped." 


258  MOODS. 

The  way  in  which  Prue  put  the  case  made  it  im 
possible  for  her  hearers  not  to  laugh.  But  Sylvia  held 
her  breath  while  waiting  for  her  husband's  answer. 
He  was  standing  behind  her  chair,  and  spoke  with  the 
smile  still  on  his  lips,  too  confident  to  harbor  even  a 
passing  fancy. 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  to  be  generous  enough  to  do  so, 
but  not  being  a  Jaques,  with  a  convenient  glacier  to 
help  me  out  of  the  predicament,  I  am  afraid  I  should 
be  hard  to  manage.  I  love  but  few,  and  those  few  are 
my  world ;  so  do  not  try  me  too  hardly,  Sylvia." 

"  I  shall  do  my  best,  Geoffrey.'' 

She  dropped  her  shuttle  as  she  spoke,  and,  stooping 
to  pick  it  up,  down  swept  the  long  curls  over  either 
cheek ;  thus,  when  she  fell  to  work  again,  nothing  of 
her  face  was  visible  but  a  glimpse  of  forehead,  dark 
lashes,  and  faintly  smiling  mouth.  Moor  led  the  con 
versation  to  other  topics,  and  was  soon  deep  in  an  art 
discussion  with  Max  and  Miss  Dane,  while  Prue  and 
Jessie  chatted  away  on  that  safe  subject,  dress.  But 
Sylvia  worked  silently,  and  Warwick  still  leaned  there, 
watching  the  busy  hand  as  if  he  saw  something  more 
than  a  pretty  contrast  between  the  white  fingers  and 
the  scarlet  silk. 

When  the  other  guests  had  left,  and  Faith  and 
himself  had  gone  to  their  rooms,  Warwick,  bent  on 
not  passing  another  sleepless  night,  went  down  again 
to  get  a  book.  The  library  was  still  lighted,  and 
standing  there  alone  he  saw  Sylvia,  wearing  an  ex 
pression  that  startled  him.  Both  hands  pushed  back 


EARLY  AND  LATE.  259 

and  held  her  hair  away  as  if  she  scorned  concealment 
from  herself.  Her  eyes  seemed  fixed  with  a  despair 
ing  glance  on  some  invisible  disturber  of  her  peace. 
All  the  light  and  color  that  made  her  beautiful  were 
gone,  leaving  her  face  worn  and  old,  and  the  language 
of  both  countenance  and  attitude  was  that  of  one  sud 
denly  confronted  with  some  hard  fact,  some  heavy 
duty,  that  must  be  accepted  and  performed. 

This  revelation  lasted  but  a  moment.  Moor's  step 
came  down  the  hall,  the  hair  fell,  the  anguish  passed, 
and  nothing  but  a  wan  and  weary  face  remained. 
But  Warwick  had  seen  it,  and  as  he  stole  away  un- 
perceived  he  pressed  his  hands  together,  saying  mourn 
fully  within  himself,  "  I  was  mistaken.  God  help  us 
all!" 


260  MOODS. 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

IN    THE    TWILIGHT. 

IF  Sylvia  needed  another  trial,  to  make  that  hard 
week  harder,  it  soon  came  to  her  in  the  knowl 
edge  that  Warwick  watched  her.  She  well  knew 
why,  and  vainly  endeavored  to  conceal  from  him  that 
which  she  had  succeeded  in  concealing  entirely  from 
others.  But  he  possesssed  the  key  to  her  variable 
moods ;  he  alone  knew  that  now  painful  forethough^ 
not  caprice,  dictated  many  of  her  seeming  whims, 
and  ruled  her  simplest  action.  To  others  she  ap 
peared  busy,  gay,  and  full  of  interest  in  all  about 
her  ;  to  him,  the  industry  was  a  preventive  of  forbid 
den  thoughts  ;  the  gayety,  a  daily  endeavor  to  forget ; 
the  interest,  an  anxiety  concerning  the  looks  and 
words  of  her  companions,  because  she  must  guard  her 
own. 

Sylvia  felt  something  like  terror  in  the  presence  of 
this  penetrating  eye,  this  daring  will ;  for  the  vigilance 
was  unflagging  and  unobtrusive,  and  with  all  her 
efforts  she  could  not  read  his  heart  as  she  felt  her  own 
was  being  read.  Adam  could  act  no  part,  but,  bent 
on  learning  the  truth  for  the  sake  of  all,  he  sur 
mounted  the  dangers  of  the  situation  by  no  artifice, 
no  rash  indulgence,  but  by  simply  shunning  solitary 


IN  THE   TWILIGHT.  261 

interviews  with  Sylvia  as  carefully  as  the  courtesy 
due  his  hostess  would  allow.  In  walks  and  drives 
and  general  conversation,  he  bore  his  part,  surprising 
and  delighting  those  who  knew  him  best  by  the 
genial  change  which  seemed  to  have  softened  his 
rugged  nature.  But  the  instant  the  family  group  fell 
apart,  and  Moor's  devotion  to  his  cousin  left  Sylvia 
alone,  Warwick  was  away  into  the  wood  or  out  upon 
the  sea,  lingering  there  till  some  meal,  some  appointed 
pleasure,  or  the  evening  lamp  brought  all  together, 
Sylvia  understood  this,  and  loved  him  for  it  even  while 
she  longed  to  have  it  otherwise.  But  Moor  reproached 
him  for  his  desertion,  doubly  felt  since  the  gentler  ac 
quirements  made  him  dearer  to  his  friend.  Hating 
all  disguises,  Warwick  found  it  hard  to  withhold  the 
fact  which  was  not  his  own  to  give,  and,  sparing  no 
blame  to  himself,  answered  Moor's  playful  complaint 
with  a  sad  sincerity  that  freed  him  from  all  further 
pleadings,  — 

"  Geoffrey,  I  have  a  question  to  settle  and  you  can 
not  help  me.  Leave  it  to  time,  and  let  me  come  and 
go  as  of  old,  enjoying  the  social  hour  when  I  can, 
llying  to  solitude  when  I  must." 

Much  as  Sylvia  had  longed  to  see  these  friends,  she 
counted  the  hours  of  their  stay ;  for  the  presence  of 
one  was  a  daily  disquieting,  because  spirits  would 
often  flag,  conversation  fail,  and  an  utter  weariness 
creep  over  her  when  she  could  least  account  for  or 
yield  to  it.  More  than  once  during  that  week  she 
longed  to  lay  her  head  on  Faith's  kind  bosom  and  ask 


262  MOODS. 

help.  Deep  as  was  her  husband's  love,  it  did  not 
possess  the  soothing  power  of  a  woman's  sympathy, 
and  though  it  cradled  her  as  tenderly  as  if  she  had 
been  a  child,  Faith's  compassion  would  have  been  like 
motherly  arms  to  fold  and  foster.  But  friendly  as 
they  soon  became,  frank  as  was  Faith's  regard  for 
Sylvia,  earnest  as  was  Sylvia's  affection  for  Faith,  she 
never  seemed  to  reach  that  deeper  place  where  she 
desired  to  be.  Always  when  she  thought  she  had 
found  the  innermost  that  each  of  us  seek  for  in  our 
friend,  she  felt  that  Faith  drew  back,  and  a  reserve  as 
delicate  as  inflexible  barred  her  approach  witli  chilly 
gentleness.  This  seemed  so  foreign  to  Faith's  nature 
that  Sylvia  pondered  and  grieved  over  it  till  the  be 
lief  came  to  her  that  this  woman,  so  truly  excellent 
and  loveworthy,  did  not  desire  to  receive  her  confi 
dence,  and  sometimes  a  bitter  fear  assailed  her  that 
Warwick  was  not  the  only  reader  of  her  secret 
trouble. 

All  things  have  an  end,  and  the  last  day  came  none 
too  soon  for  one  dweller  under  that  hospitable  roof. 
Faith  refused  all  entreaties  to  stay,  and  looked  some 
what  anxiously  at  Warwick  as  Moor  turned  from  her 
self  to  him  with  the  same  urgency. 

"  Adam,  you  will  stay  ?  Promise  me  another 
week?" 

"  I  never  promise,  Geoffrey." 

Believing  that,  as  no  denial  came,  his  request  was 
granted,  Moor  gave  his  whole  attention  to  Faith,  who 
was  to  leave  them  in  an  hour. 


IN  THE   TWILIGHT.  263 

"  Sylvia,  while  I  help  our  cousin  to  select  and  fasten 
up  the  books  she  likes  to  take  with  her,  will  you  fill 
your  prettiest  basket  with  flowers  ?  Servants  should 
not  perform  these  pleasant  services  for  one's  best 
friends." 

Glad  to  be  away,  Sylvia  went  into  the  conservatory, 
and  was  standing  in  a  corner  trimming  her  basket  with 
ferns  when  Warwick's  step  approached.  He  did  not 
see  her,  nor  seem  intent  on  following  her ;  he  walked 
slowly,  hat  in  hand,  so  slowly  that  he  was  midway 
down  the  leafy  lane  when  Faith's  voice  arrested  him. 
She  was  in  haste,  as  her  hurried  step  and  almost 
breathless  words  betrayed ;  and,  losing  not  an  instant, 
she  said  before  they  met,  — 

"  Adam,  you  will  come  with  me  ?  I  cannot  leave 
you  here." 

"  Do  you  doubt  me,  Faith  ? " 

"  No  ;  but  loving  women  are  so  weak." 

"  So  strong,  you  mean  \  men  are  weakest  when  they 
love." 

"  Adam,  will  you  come  ? " 

"  I  will  follow  you ;  I  shall  speak  with  Geoffrey 
first." 

"  Must  you  tell  him  so  soon  ? " 

"  I  must." 

Faith's  hand  had  been  on  Warwick's  arm ;  as  he 
spoke  the  last  words  she  looked  up  at  him  for  an 
instant,  then  without  another  word  turned  and  hur 
ried  back  as  rapidly  as  she  had  come,  while  Warwick 
stood  where  she  left  him,  motionless  as  if  buried  in 
some  absorbing  thought. 


264  MOODS. 

All  had  passed  in  a  moment,  a  moment  too  short, 
too  full  of  intense  surprise,  to  leave  Sylvia  time  for 
recollection  and  betrayal  of  her  presence.  Half  hid 
den  and  wholly  unobserved,  she  had  seen  the  un 
wonted  agitation  of  Faith's  countenance  and  manner, 
had  heard  Warwick's  softly  spoken  answers  to  those 
eager  appeals,  and  with  a  great  pang  had  discovered 
that  some  tender  confidence  existed  between  these  two 
of  which  she  had  never  dreamed.  Sudden  as  the 
discovery  was  its  acceptance  and  belief;  for,  knowing 
her  own  weakness,  Sylvia  found  something  like  relief 
in  the  hope  that  a  new  happiness  for  Warwick  had 
ended  all  temptation,  and  in  time  all  pain  for  herself. 
Impulsive  as  ever,  she  leaned  upon  the  seeming  truth, 
and,  making  of  the  fancy  a  fact,  passed  into  a  perfect 
passion  of  self-abnegation,  thinking,  in  the  brief  pause 
that  followed  Faith's  departure, — 

"  This  is  the  change  we  see  in  him ;  this  made  him 
watch  me,  hoping  I  had  forgotten,  as  I  once  said  and 
believed.  I  should  be  glad,  I  will  be  glad,  and  let 
him  see  that  even  while  I  suffer  I  can  rejoice  in  that 
which  helps  us  both." 

Full  of  her  generous  purpose,  yet  half  doubtful 
how  to  execute  it,  Sylvia  stepped  from  the  recess 
where  she  had  stood,  and  slowly  passed  toward  War 
wick,  apparently  intent  on  settling  her  flowery  burden 
as  she  went.  At  the  first  sound  of  her  light  step  on 
the  walk  he  turned,  feeling  at  once  that  she  must 
have  heard,  and  eager  to  learn  what  significance  that 
short  dialogue  possessed  for  her.  Only  a  hasty  glance 


IN  THE    TWILIGHT.  265 

did  she  give  him  as  she  came,  but  it  showed  him 
flushed  cheeks,  excited  eyes,  and  lips  a  little  tremu 
lous  as  they  said,  — 

"These  are  for  Faith;  will  you  hold  the  basket 
while  I  cover  it  with  leaves  ? " 

He  took  it  and  as  the  first  green  covering  was  deftly 
laid,  he  asked,  below  his  breath, 

"  Sylvia,  did  you  hear  us  ?  " 

To  his  unutterable  amazement  she  looked  up 
clearly,  and  all  her  heart  was  in  her  voice,  as  she 
answered  with  a  fervency  he  could  not  doubt,  — 

"  Yes ;  and  I  was  glad  to  hear,  to  know  that  a 
nobler  woman  filled  the  place  I  cannot  fill.  Oh,  be 
lieve  it,  Adam !  and  be  sure  that  the  knowledge  of 
your  happiness  will  lighten  the  terrible  regret  which 
you  have  seen  as  nothing  else  ever  could  have  done." 

Down  fell  the  basket  at  their  feet,  and,  taking  her 
face  between  his  hands,  Warwick  bent  and  searched 
with  a  glance  that  seemed  to  penetrate  to  her  heart's 
core.  For  a  moment  she  struggled  to  escape,  but  the 
grasp  that  held  her  was  immovable.  She  tried  to 
oppose  a  steadfast  front  and  baffle  that  perilous  inspec 
tion,  but  quick  and  deep  rushed  the  traitorous  color 
over  cheek  and  forehead  with  its  mute  betrayal.  She 
tried  to  turn  her  eyes  away,  but  those  other  eyes,  dark 
and  dilated  with  intensity  of  purpose,  fixed  her  own, 
and  the  confronting  countenance  wore  an  expression 
which  made  its  familiar  features  look  awfully  large 
and  grand  to  her  panic-stricken  sight.  A  sense  of 
utter  helplessness  fell  on  her,  courage  deserted  her, 


266  MOODS. 

pride  changed  to  fear,  defiance  to  despair;  as  the 
flush  faded,  the  fugitive  glance  was  arrested  and  the 
upturned  face  became  a  pale  blank,  ready  to  receive 
the  answer  that  strong  scrutiny  was  slowly  bringing 
to  the  light,  as  invisible  characters  start  out  upon  a 
page  when  fire  passes  over  them.  Neither  spoke,  but 
soon  through  all  opposing  barriers  the  magnetism  of 
an  indomitable  will  drew  forth  the  truth,  set  free  the 
captive  passion  pent  so  long,  and  wrung  from  those 
reluctant  lineaments  a  full  confession  of  his  power 
and  her  weakness. 

The  instant  this  assurance  was  his  own  beyond  a 
doubt,  Warwick  released  her,  snatched  up  his  hat,  and, 
hurrying  down  the  path,  vanished  in  the  wood. 
Spent  as  with  an  hour's  excitement,  and  bewildered 
by  emotions  which  she  could  no  longer  master,  Sylvia 
lingered  in  the  fern-walk  till  her  husband  called  her. 
Then,  hastily  refilling  her  basket,  she  shook  her  hair 
about  her  face  and  went  to  bid  Faith  good-by.  Moor 
was  to  accompany  her  to  the  city,  and  they  left  early, 
that  Faith  might  pause  for  adieux  to  Max  and 
Prudence. 

"  Where  is  Adam  ?  Has  he  gone  before,  or  been 
inveigled  into  staying  ? " 

Moor  spoke  to  Sylvia ;  but,  busied  in  fastening  the 
basket-lid,  she  seemed  not  to  hear,  and  Faith  replied 
for  her,  — 

"  He  will  take  a  later  boat,  we  need  not  wait  for 
him." 

When  Faith  embraced  Sylvia,  all  the  coldness  had 


IN  THE   TWILIGHT.  267 

melted  from  her  manner,  and  her  voice  was  tender  as 
a  mother's  as  she  whispered  low  in  her  ear,  — 

"Dear  child,  if  ever  you  need  any  help  that 
Geoffrey  cannot  give,  remember  Cousin  Faith." 

For  two  hours  Sylvia  sat  alone,  not  idle,  for  in  the 
first  real  solitude  she  had  enjoyed  for  seven  days,  she 
looked  deeply  into  herself,  and  putting  by  all  disguises 
owned  the  truth,  and  resolved  to  repair  the  past  if 
possible,  as  Faith  had  counselled  in  the  case  which 
she  had  now  made  her  own.  Like  so  many  of  us, 
Sylvia  often  saw  her  errors  too  late  to  avoid  commit 
ting  them,  and,  failing  to  do  the  right  thing  at  the 
right  moment,  kept  herself  forever  in  arrears  with  that 
creditor  who  must  inevitably  be  satisfied.  She  had 
been  coming  to  this  decision  all  that  weary  week,  and 
these  quiet  hours  left  her  both  resolute  and  resigned. 

As  she  sat  there  while  the  early  twilight  began  to 
gather,  her  eye  often  turned  to  Warwick's  travelling- 
bag,  which  Faith,  having  espied  it  ready  in  his  cham 
ber,  had  brought  down  and  laid  in  the  library,  as  a 
reminder  of  her  wish.  As  she  looked  at  it,  Sylvia's 
h^art  yearned  toward  it  in  the  fond,  foolish  way  which 
women  have  of  endowing  the  possessions  of  those  they 
love  with  the  attractions  of  sentient  things,  and  a  por 
tion  of  their  owner's  character  or  claim  upon  them 
selves.  It  was  like  Warwick,  simple  and  strong,  no 
key,  and  every  mark  of  the  long  use  which  had  tested 
its  capabilities  and  proved  them  durable.  A  pair  of 
gloves  lay  beside  it  on  the  chair,  and  though  she 
longed  to  touch  anything  of  his,  she  resisted  the  temp- 


268  MOODS. 

tation  till,  pausing  near  them  in  one  of  her  journeys 
to  the  window,  she  saw  a  rent  in  the  glove  that  lay 
uppermost,  —  that  appeal  was  irresistible,  —  "Poor 
Adam  !  there  has  been  no  one  to  care  for  him  so  long, 
and  Faith  does  not  yet  know  how ;  surely  I  may  per 
form  so  small  a  service  for  him  if  he  never  knows  how 
tenderly  I  do  it  ? " 

Standing  ready  to  drop  her  work  at  a  sound,  Sylvia 
snatched  a  brief  satisfaction  which  solaced  her  more 
than  an  hour  of  idle  lamentation,  and  as  she  put  down 
the  glove  with  eyes  that  dimly  saw  where  it  should 
be,  perhaps  there  went  as  much  real  love  and  sorrow 
into  that  little  act  as  ever  glorified  some  greater  deed. 
Then  she  went  to  lie  in  the  "  Eefuge,"  as  she  had 
named  the  ancient  chair,  with  her  head  on  its  embrac 
ing  arm.  Not  weeping,  but  quietly  watching  the 
flicker  of  the  fire,  which  filled  the  room  with  warm 
duskiness,  making  the  twilight  doubly  pleasant,  till 
a  sudden  blaze  leaped  up,  showing  her  that  her  watch 
was  over,  and  Warwick  come.  She  had  not  heard  him 
enter,  but  there  he  was,  close  before  her,  his  face 
glowing  with  the  frosty  air,  his  eye  clear  and  kind, 
and  in  his  aspect  that  nameless  charm  which  won  for 
him  the  confidence  of  whosoever  read  his  countenance. 
Scarce  knowing  why,  Sylvia  felt  reassured  that  all 
was  well,  and  looked  up  with  more  welcome  in  her 
heart  than  she  dared  betray  in  words. 

"  Come  at  last !  where  have  you  been  so  long, 
Adam?" 

"  Bound  the  Island,  I  suspect,  for  I  lost  my  way, 


IN  THE   TWILIGHT.  269 

and  had  no  guide  but  instinct  to  lead  me  home  again. 
I  like  to  say  that  word,  for  though  it  is  not  home  it 
seems  so  to  me  now.  May  I  sit  here  before  I  go,  and 
warm  myself  at  your  fire,  Sylvia  ? " 

Sure  of  his  answer  he  established  himself  in  the 
low  lounging-chair  beside  her,  stretched  his  hands  to 
the  grateful  blaze,  and  went  on  with  some  inward  res 
olution  lending  its  power  and  depth  to  his  voice. 

"  I  had  a  question  to  settle  with  myself  and  went  to 
find  my  best  counsellors  in  the  wood.  Often  when  I 
am  harassed  by  some  perplexity  or  doubt  to  which 
I  can  find  no  wise  or  welcome  answer,  I  walk  myself 
into  a  belief  that  it  will  come ;  then  it  appears.  I 
stoop  to  break  a  handsome  flower,  to  pick  up  a  cone, 
or  watch  some  little  creature  happier  than  I,  and  there 
lies  my  answer,  like  a  good  luck  penny,  ready  to  my 
hand." 

"Faith  has  gone,  but  Geoffrey  hopes  to  keep  you 
for  another  week,"  said  Sylvia,  ignoring  one  unsafe 
topic  for  another. 

"  Shall  he  have  his  wish  ? " 

"  Faith  expects  you  to  follow  her." 

"  And  you  think  I  ought  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  will." 

"  When  does  the  next  boat  leave  ? " 

''  An  hour  hence." 

"  I  '11  wait  for  it  here.     Did  I  wake  you  coming  in  ? " 

"  I  was  not  asleep ;  only  lazy,  warm,  and  quiet." 

"  And  deadly  tired ;  —  dear  soul,  how  can  it  be  oth 
erwise,  leading  the  life  you  lead !  " 


270  MOODS. 

There  was  such  compassion  in  his  voice,  such  affec 
tion  in  his  eye,  such  fostering  kindliness  in  the  touch 
of  the  hand  he  laid  upon  her  own,  that  Sylvia  cried 
within  herself,  "  Oh,  if  Geoffrey  would  only  come  ! " 
and,  hoping  for  that  help  to  save  her  from  herself,  she 
hastily  replied,  — 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Adam,  —  my  life  is  easier  than 
I  deserve,  —  I  am  very  —  " 

"  Miserable,  —  the  truth  to  me,  Sylvia." 

Warwick  rose  as  he  spoke,  closed  the  door,  and 
came  back  wearing  an  expression  which  caused  her  to 
start  up  with  a  gesture  of  entreaty,  — 

"  No,  no,  I  will  not  hear  you !  Adam,  you  must  not 
speak  !  " 

He  paused  opposite  her,  leaving  a  little  space  be 
tween  them,  which  he  did  not  cross  through  all  that 
followed,  and  with  that  look,  inflexible  yet  pitiful,  he 
answered  steadily,  — 

"  I  must  speak  and  you  will  hear  me.  But  under 
stand  me,  Sylvia,  I  desire  and  design  no  French  sen 
timent  nor  sin  like  that  we  heard  of,  and  what  I  say 
now  I  would  say  if  Geoffrey  stood  between  us.  I  ask 
nothing  for  myself.  I  have  settled  this  point  after 
long  thought  and  the  heartiest  prayers  I  ever  prayed  ; 
but  you  have  much  at  stake  and  I  speak  for  your  sake, 
not  my  own.  Therefore  do  not  entreat  nor  delay,  but 
listen  and  let  me  show  you  the  wrong  you  are  doing 
yourself,  your  husband,  and  your  friend." 

"  D6es  Faith  know  all  the  past  ?  does  she  desire 
you  to  do  this  that  her  happiness  may  be  secure  ? " 
demanded  Sylvia. 


IN  THE   TWILIGHT.  271 

"  Faith  is  no  more  to  me,  nor  I  to  Faith,  than  the 
friendliest  regard  can  make  us.  She  suspected  that 
I  loved  you  long  ago  ;  she  now  believes  that  you  love 
me  ;  she  pities  her  cousin  tenderly,  but  will  not  med 
dle  with  the  tangle  we  have  made  of  our  three  lives. 
But  I  believe  that  secrets  kill,  the  truth  alone  can 
save  and  heal ;  so  let  me  speak.  When  we  parted  I 
thought  that  you  loved  Geoffrey  ;  so  did  you.  When 
I  came  here  I  was  sure  of  it  for  a  day ;  but  on  that 
second  night  I  saw  your  face  as  you  stood  here  alone, 
and  then  I  knew  what  I  have  since  assured  myself  of. 
God  knows,  I  think  my  gain  dearly  purchased  by  his 
loss.  I  see  your  double  trial ;  I  know  the  tribula 
tions  in  store  for  all  of  us  ;  yet  as  an  honest  man,  I 
must  speak  out,  because  you  ought  not  to  delude  your 
self  or  Geoffrey  another  day." 

"  What  right  have  you  to  come  between  us  and  de 
cide  my  duty,  Adam  ? "  Sylvia  spoke  passionately, 
roused  to  resistance  by  his  manner  and  the  turmoil  of 
emotions  warring  within  her. 

"  The  right  of  a  sane  man  to  save  the  woman  he 
loves  from  destroying  her  own  peace  forever,  and  un 
dermining  the  confidence  of  the  friend  dearest  to  them 
both.  I  know  this  is  not  the  world's  way  in  such 
matters  ;  but  I  care  not ;  because  I  believe  one  human 
creature  has  a  right  to  speak  to  another  in  times  like 
these,  as  if  they  two  stood  alone.  I  will  not  command, 
I  will  appeal  to  you,  and  if  you  are  the  candid  soul  I 
think  you,  your  own  words  shall  prove  the  truth  of 
what  I  say.  Sylvia,  do  you  love  your  husband?" 


272  "^  MOODS. 

11  Yes,  Adam,  dearly." 

"  More  than  you  love  me  ? " 

"I  wish  I  did!  I  wish  I  did!" 

"  Are  you  happy  with  him  ? " 

"  I  was  till  you  came ;  I  shall  be  when  you  are 
gone." 

"  It  is  impossible  to  go  back  to  the  blind  tranquillity 
you  once  enjoyed.  Now  a  single  duty  lies  before  you  ; 
delay  is  weak,  deceit  is  wicked ;  utter  sincerity  alone 
can  help  us.  Tell  Geoffrey  all ;  then  whether  you  live 
your  life  alone,  or  stay  with  him,  there  is  no  false 
dealing  to  repent  of,  and  looking  the  hard  fact  in  the 
face  robs  it  of  one  half  its  terrors.  Will  you  do  this, 
Sylvia?" 

"  No,  Adam.  Eemember  what  he  said  that  night : 
'  I  love  but  few,  and  those  few  are  my  world,'  —  I  am 
chief  in  that  world ;  shall  I  destroy  it,  for  my  selfish 
pleasure  ?  He  waited  for  me  very  long,  is  waiting  still ; 
can  I  for  a  second  time  disappoint  the  patient  heart 
that  would  find  it  easier  to  give  up  life  than  the  poor 
possession  which  I  am  ?  No,  I  ought  not,  dare  not  do 
it  yet." 

"  If  you  dare  not  speak  the  truth  to  your  friend,  you 
do  not  deserve  him,  and  the  name  is  a  lie.  You  ask 
me  to  remember  what  he  said  that  night,  —  I  ask  you 
to  recall  the  look  with  which  he  begged  you  not  to 
try  him  too  hardly.  Put  it  to  yourself,  —  which  is 
the  kinder  justice,  a  full  confession  now,  or  a  late  one 
hereafter,  when  longer  subterfuge  has  made  it  harder 
for  you  to  offer,  bitterer  for  him  to  receive  ?  I  tell 


IN  THE   TWILIGHT.  273 

you,  Sylvia,  it  were  more  merciful  to  murder  him  out 
right  than  to  slowly  wear  away  his  faith,  his  peace, 
arid  love  by  a  vain  endeavor  to  perform  as  a  duty 
what  should  be  your  sweetest  pleasure,  and  what  will 
soon  become  a  burden  heavier  than  you  can  bear." 

"  You  do  not  see  as  I  see ;  you  cannot  understand 
what  I  am  to  him,  nor  can  1  tell  you  what  he  is  to  me. 
It  is  not  as  if  I  could  dislike  or  despise  him  for  any 
un worthiness  of  his  own ;  nor  as  if  lie  were  a  lover 
only.  Then  I  could  do  much  which  now  is  worse 
than  impossible,  for  I  have  married  him,  and  it  is  too 
late." 

"  0  Sylvia  !  why  could  you  not  have  waited  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  Because  I  am  what  I  am,  too  easily  led 
by  circumstances,  too  entirely  possessed  by  whatever 
hope,  belief,  or  fear  rules  me  for  the  hour.  Give  me 
a  steadfast  nature  like  your  own  and  I  will  be  as 
strong.  I  know  I  am  weak,  but  I  am  not  wilfully 
wicked ;  and  when  I  ask  you  to  be  silent,  it  is  because 
I  want  to  save  him  from  the  pain  of  doubt,  and  try  to 
teach  myself  to  love  him  as  I  should.  I  must  have 
time,  but  I  can  bear  much  and  endeavor  more  per 
sistently  than  you  believe.  If  I  forgot  you  once,  can 
I  not  again  ?  and  should  I  not  ?  I  am  all  in  all  to 
him,  while  you,  so  strong,  so  self-reliant,  can  do  with 
out  my  love  as  you  have  done  till  now,  and  will  soon 
outlive  your  sorrow  for  the  loss  of  that  which  might 
have  made  us  happy  had  I  been  more  patient." 

"  Yes,  I  shall  outlive  it,  else  I  should  have  little 
faith  in  myself.  But  I  shall  not  forget ;  and  if  you 

18 


274  MOODS. 

would  remain  forever  what  you  now  are  to  me,  you 
will  so  act  that  nothing  may  mar  this  memory,  since 
it  can  be  no  more.  I  doubt  your  power  to  forget  an 
affection  which  has  survived  so  many  changes  and 
withstood  assaults  such  as  Geoffrey  must  uncon 
sciously  have  made  upon  it.  But  I  have  no  right  to 
condemn  your  beliefs,  to  o'rder  your  actions,  or  force 
you  to  accept  my  code  of  morals  if  you  are  not  ready 
for  it.  You  must  decide,  but  do  not  again  deceive 
yourself,  and  through  whatever  comes,  hold  fast  to 
that  which  is  better  worth  preserving  than  husband, 
happiness,  or  friend,  —  truth." 

His  words  fell  cold  on  Sylvia's  ear,  for  with  the  in 
consistency  of  a  woman's  heart  she  thought  he  gave 
her  up  too  readily,  yet  honored  him  more  truly  for 
sacrificing  both  himself  and  her  to  the  principle  that 
ruled  his  life  arid  made  him  what  he  was.  His  seem 
ing  resignation  steadied  her,  for  now  he  waited  her 
decision,  while  before  he  was  only  bent  on  executing 
the  purpose  wherein  he  believed  salvation  lay.  She 
girded  up  her  strength,  collected  her  thoughts,  and 
tried  to  show  him  what  she  believed  to  be  her  duty. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  how  it  is  with  me,  Adam,  and  be 
patient  if  I  am  not  wise  and  brave  like  you,  but  far 
too  young,  too  ignorant,  to  bear  such  troubles  well. 
I  am  not  leaning  on  my  own  judgment  now,  but  on 
Faith's,  and  though  you  do  not  love  her  as  I  hoped, 
you  feel  she  is  one  to  trust.  She  said  the  wife,  in 
that  fictitious  case  which  was  so  real  to  us,  —  the  wife 
should  leave  no  effort  unmade,  no  self-denial  unex- 


IN  THE   TWILIGHT.  275 

acted,  till  she  had  fairly  proved  that  she  could  not  be 
what  she  had  promised.  Then,  and  then  only,  had 
she  a  right  to  undo  the  tie  that  had  bound  her.  I 
must  do  this  before  I  think  of  your  love  or  my  own, 
for  on  my  marriage  morning  I  made  a  vow  within 
myself  that  Geoffrey's  happiness  should  be  the  first 
duty  of  my  life.  I  shall  keep  that  vow  as  sacredly  as 
I  will  those  I  made  before  the  world,  until  I  find  that 
it  is  utterly  beyond  my  power,  then  I  will  break  all 
together." 

"  You  have  tried  that  once,  and  failed." 
"  ]STo,  I  have  never  tried  it  as  I  shall  now.  At  first, 
I  did  not  know  the  truth,  then  I  was  afraid  to  believe, 
and  struggled  blindly  to  forget.  Now  I  see  clearly, 
I  confess  it,  I  resolve  to  conquer  it,  and  I  will  not 
yield  until  I  have  done  my  best.  You  say  you  must 
respect  me.  Could  you  do  so  if  I  no  longer  respected 
myself  ?  I  should  not,  if  I  forgot  all  Geoffrey  had 
borne  and  clone  for  me,  and  could  not  bear  and  do 
this  thing  for  him.  I  must  make  the  effort,  and  make 
it  silently;  for  he  is  very  proud  with  all  his. gentle 
ness,  and  would  reject  the  seeming  sacrifice  though 
he  would  make  one  doubly  hard  for  love  of  me.  If 
I  am  to  stay  with  him,  it  spares  him  the  bitterest 
pain  he  could  suffer ;  if  I  am  to  go,  it  gives  him  a 
few  more  months  of  happiness,  and  I  may  so  prepare 
him  that  the  parting  will  be  less  hard.  How  others 
would  act  I  cannot  tell,  I  only  know  that  this  seems 
right  to  me ;  and  I  must  fight  my  fight  alone,  even  if 
I  die  in  doing  it." 


276  MOODS. 

She  was  so  earnest,  yet  so  humble ;  so  weak  in  all 
but  the  desire  to  do  well ;  so  young  to  be  tormented 
with  such  fateful  issues,  and  withal  so  steadfast  in  the 
grateful  yet  remorseful  tenderness  she  bore  her  hus 
band,  that  though  sorely  disappointed  and  not  one 
whit  convinced,  Warwick  could  only  submit  to  this 
woman-hearted  child,  and  love  her  with  redoubled 
love,  both  for  what  she  was  and  what  she  aspired 
to  be. 

"  Sylvia,  what  can  I  do  to  help  you  ? " 

"You  must  go  away,  Adam;  because  when  you 
are  near  me  my  will  is  swayed  by  yours,  and  what 
you  desire  I  long  to  do.  Go  quite  away,  and 
through  Faith  you  may  learn  whether  I  succeed  or 
fail.  It  is  hard  to  say  this,  yet  you  know  it  is  a 
truer  hospitality  in  me  to  send  you  from  my  door 
than  to  detain  and  offer  you  temptation  for  your  daily 
bread." 

It  was  hard  to  submit ;  for  though  he  asked  nothing 
for  himself,  he  longed  intensely  to  share  in  some  way 
the  burden  that  he  could  not  lighten. 

"Ah,  Sylvia  !  I  thought  that  parting  on  the  moun 
tain  was  the  hardest  I  could  ever  know,  but  this  is 
harder;  for  now  I  know  I  have  but  to  say  Come  to 
me  !  and  you  would  come." 

But  the  bitter  moment  had  its  drop  of  honey,  whose 
sweetness  nourished  him  when  all  else  failed.  Sylvia 
answered  with  a  perfect  confidence  in  that  integrity 
which  even  her  own  longing  could  not  bribe,  — 

"  Yes,  Adam,  but  you  will  not  say  it,  because,  feel 
ing  as  I  feel,  you  know  I  must  not  come  to  you." 


IN  THE   TWILIGHT.  277 

He  did  know  it,  and  confessed  his  submission  by 
folding  fast  the  arms  half  opened  for  her,  and  stand 
ing  dumb  with  the  words  trembling  on  his  lips.  It 
was  the  bravest  action  of  a  life  full  of  real  valor,  for 
the  sacrifice  was  not  made  with  more  than  human 
fortitude.  The  man's  heart  clamored  for  its  right, 
patience  was  weary,  hope  despaired,  and  all  natural 
instincts  mutinied  against  the  command  that  bound 
them.  But  no  grain  of  virtue  ever  falls  wasted  to  the 
ground;  it  drops  back  upon  its  giver  a  regathered 
strength,  and  cannot  fail  of  its  reward  in  some  kindred 
soul's  approval,  imitation,  or  delight.  It  was  so  then, 
as  Sylvia  went  to  him ;  for  though  she  did  not  touch 
nor  smile  upon  him,  he  felt  her  nearness ;  and  the 
parting  assured  him  that  its  power  bound  them  closer 
than  the  happiest  union.  In  her  face  there  shone  a 
look  half  fervent,  half  devout,  and  her  voice  had  no 
falter  in  it  now. 

"  You  show  me  what  I  should  be.  All  my  life  I 
have  desired  strength  of  heart  and  stability  of  soul ; 
may  I  not  hope  to  earn  for  myself  a  little  of  the  in 
tegrity  I  love  in  you  ?  If  courage,  self-denial,  and 
self-help  make  you  what  you  are,  can  I  have  a  more 
effectual  guide  ?  You  say  you  shall  outlive  this 
passion;  why  should  not  I  imitate  your  brave  ex 
ample,  and  find  the  consolations  you  shall  find  ?  O 
Adam,  let  me  try." 

"  You  shall." 

"  Then  go  ;  go  now,  while  I  can  say  it  as  I  should." 

"  The  good  Lord  bless  and  help  you,  Sylvia." 


278     )  MOODS. 

She  gave  him  both  her  hands,  but  though  he  only 
pressed  them  silently,  that  pressure  nearly  destroyed 
the  victory  she  had  won ;  for  the  strong  grasp  snapped 
the  slender  guard-ring  Moor  had  given  her  a  week 
ago.  She  heard  it  drop  with  a  golden  tinkle  on  the 
hearth,  saw  the  dark  oval,  with  its  doubly  significant 
character,  roll  into  the  ashes,  and  felt  Warwick's  hold 
tighten  as  if  he  echoed  the  emphatic  word  uttered 
when  the  ineffectual  gift  was  first  bestowed.  Super 
stition  flowed  in  Sylvia's  blood,  and  was  as  uncon 
querable  as  the  imagination  which  supplied  its  food. 
This  omen  startled  her.  It  seemed  a  forewarning 
that  endeavor  would  be  vain,  that  submission  was 
wisdom,  and  that  the  husband's  charm  had  lost  its 
virtue  when  the  stronger  power  claimed  her.  The 
desire  to  resist  began  to  waver  as  the  old  passionate 
longing  sprang  up  more  eloquent  than  ever ;  she  felt  the 
rush  of  a  coming  impulse,  knew  that  it  would  sweep 
her  into  Warwick's  arms,  there  to  forget  her  duty,  to 
forfeit  his  respect.  With  the  last  effort  of  a  sorely 
tried  spirit  she  tore  her  hands  away,  fled  up  to  the 
room  which  had  never  needed  lock  or  key  till  now, 
and  stifling  the  sound  of  those  departing  steps  among 
the  cushions  of  the  couch  where  she  had  already 
hidden  many  tears,  she  struggled  with  the  great  sorrow 
of  her  too  early  womanhood,  uttering  with  broken 
voice  that  petition  oftenest  quoted  from  the  one  prayer 
which  expresses  all  our  needs,  — 

"Lead  me  not  into  temptation,  but  deliver  me 
from  evil." 


ASLEEP  AND  AWAKE.  279 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

ASLEEP    AND    AWAKE. 

MARCH  winds  were  howling  round  the  house, 
the  clock  was  striking  two,  the  library  lamp 
still  burned,  and  Moor  sat  writing  with  an  anxious 
face.  Occasionally  he  paused  to  look  backward 
through  the  leaves  of  the  book  in  which  he  wrote ; 
sometimes  he  sat  with  suspended  pen,  thinking 
deeply ;  and  once  or  twice  he  laid  it  down,  to  press 
his  hand  over  eyes  more  weary  than  the  mind  that 
compelled  them  to  this  late  service. 

Returning  to  his  work  after  one  of  these  pauses,  he 
was  a  little  startled  to  -see  Sylvia  standing  on  the 
threshold  of  the  door.  Rising  hastily  to  ask  if  she 
were  ill,  he  stopped  half-way  across  the  room,  for, 
'vith  a  thrill  of  apprehe'nsion  and  surprise,  he  saw 
that  she  was  asleep.  Her  eyes  were  open,  fixed,  and 
vacant,  her  face  reposeful,  her  breathing  regular,  and 
every  sense  apparently  wrapped  in  the  profoundest 
unconsciousness.  Fearful  of  awakening  her  too  sud 
denly,  Moor  stood  motionless,  yet  full  of  interest,  for 
this  was  his  first  experience  of  somnambulism,  and  it 
was  a  strange,  almost  an  awful  sight,  to  witness  the 
blind  obedience  of  the  body  to  the  soul  that  ruled  it. 

For  several  minutes  she  remained  where  she  first 


280  MOODS. 

appeared.  Then,  as  if  the  dream  demanded  action, 
she  stooped,  and  seemed  to  take  some  object  from  a 
chair  beside  the  door,  held  it  an  instant,  kissed  it 
softly  and  laid  it  down.  Slowly  and  steadily  she 
went  across  the  room,  avoiding  all  obstacles  with  the 
unerring  instinct  that  often  leads  the  sleep-walker 
through  dangers  that  appall  his  waking  eyes,  and  sat 
down  in  the  great  chair  he  had  left,  leaned  her  cheek 
upon  its  arm,  and  rested  tranquilly  for  several  minutes. 
Soon  the  dream  disturbed  her,  and,  lifting  her  head, 
she  bent  forward,  as  if  addressing  or  caressing  some 
one  seated  at  her  feet.  Involuntarily  her  husband 
smiled ;  for  often  when  they  were  alone  he  sat  there 
reading  or  talking  to  her,  while  she  played  with  his 
hair,  likening  its  brown  abundance  to  young  Shelley's 
curling  locks  in  the  picture  overhead.  The  smile  had 
hardly  risen  when  it  was  scared  away ;  for  Sylvia 
suddenly  sprang  up  with  both  hands  out,  crying  in  a 
voice  that  rent  the  silence  with  its  imploring  en 
ergy,— 

"  No,  no,  you  must  not  *speak !  I  will  not  hear 
you!" 

Her  own  cry  woke  her.  Consciousness  and  mem 
ory  returned  together,  and  her  face  whitened  with  a 
look  of  terror,  as  her  bewildered  eyes  showed  her  not 
Warwick,  but  her  husband.  This  look,  so  full  of 
fear,  yet  so  intelligent,  startled  Moor  more  than  the 
apparition  or  the  cry  had  done,  for  a  conviction  flashed 
into  his  mind  that  some  unsuspected  trouble  had 
been  burdening  Sylvia,  and  was  now  finding  vent 


ASLEEP  AND  AWAKE.  281 

against  her  will.  Anxious  to  possess  himself  of  the 
truth,  and  bent  on  doing  so,  he  veiled  his  purpose  for 
a  time,  letting  his  unchanged  manner  reassure  and 
compose  her. 

"  Dear  child,  don't  look  so  lost  and  wild.  You  are 
quite  safe,  and  have  only  been  wandering  in  your 
sleep.  Why,  Lady  Macbeth,  have  you  murdered 
some  one,  that  you  go  crying  out  in  this  uncanny 
way,  frightening  me  as  much  as  I  seem  to  have 
frightened  you  ? " 

"I  have  murdered  sleep.  What  did  I  do?  what 
did  I  say  ? "  she  asked,  trembling  and  shrinking  as 
she  dropped  into  her  chair. 

Hoping  to  quiet  her,  he  took  his  place  on  the  low 
seat,  and  told  her  what  had  passed.  At  first,  she  lis 
tened  with  a  divided  mind,  for  so  strongly  was  she 
still  impressed'  with  the  vividness  of  the  dream,  she 
half  expected  Warwick  to  rise  like  Banquo,  and  claim 
the  seat  that  a  single  occupancy  seemed  to  have  made 
his  own.  An  expression  of  intense  relief  replaced 
t'iat  of  fear,  when  she  had  heard  all,  and  she  composed 
herself  with  the  knowledge  that  her  secret  was  still 
hers.  For,  dreary  bosom-guest  as  it  was,  she  had  not 
yet  resolved  to  end  her  trial. 

"  What  set  you  walking,  Sylvia  ? " 

"  I  recollect  hearing  the  clock  strike  one,  and 
thinking  I  would  come  down  to  see  what  you  were 
doing  so  late,  but  must  have  dropped  off  and  carried 
out  my  design  asleep.  You  see  I  put  on  wrapper  and 
slippers  as  I  always  do  when  I  take  nocturnal  rambles 


282  MOODS. 

awake.  How  pleasant  the  fire  feels,  and  how  cosey 
you  look  here ;  no  wonder  you  like  to  stay  and  enjoy 
it." 

She  leaned  forward,  warming  her  hands  in  uncon 
scious  imitation  of  Adam,  on  the  night  which  she  had 
been  recalling  before  she  slept.  Moor  watched  her 
with  increasing  disquiet ;  for  never  had  he  seen  her 
in  a  mood  like  this.  She  evaded  his  question,  she 
averted  her  eyes,  she  half  hid  her  face,  and  with  a  ges 
ture  that  of  late  had  grown  habitual,  seemed  to  try  to 
hide  her  heart.  Often  had  she  baffled  him,  sometimes 
grieved  him,  but  never  before  showed  that  she  feared 
him.  This  wounded  both  his  love  and  pride,  and  this 
fixed  his  resolution  to  wring  from  her  an  explanation 
of  the  changes  which  had  passed  over  her  during  those 
winter  months,  for  they  had  been  many  and  mysteri 
ous.  As  if  she  feared  silence,  Sylvia  soon  spoke  again. 

"  Why  are  you  up  so  late  ?  This  is  not  the  first 
time  I  have  seen  your  lamp  burning  when  I  woke. 
What  are  you  studying  so  deeply  ? " 

"  My  wife." 

Leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  chair,  he  looked  up  wist 
fully,  tenderly,  as  if  inviting  confidence,  suing  for 
affection.  The  words,  the  look,  smote  Sylvia  to  the 
heart,  and  but  for  the  thought, "  I  have  not  tried  long 
enough,"  she  would  have  uttered  the  confession  that 
leaped  to  her  lips.  Once  spoken,  it  would  be  too  late 
for  secret  effort  or  success,  and  this  man's  happiest 
hopes  would  vanish  in  a  breath.  Knowing  that  his 
nature  was  almost  as  sensitively  fastidious  as  a 


ASLEEP  AND  AWAKE.  283 

woman's,  she  also  knew  that  the  discovery  of  her 
love  for  Adam,  innocent  as  it  had  been,  self-denying 
as  it  tried  to  be,  would  mar  the  beauty  of  his  wedded 
life  for  Moor.  No  hour  of  it  would  seem  sacred,  no 
act,  look,  or  word  of  hers  entirely  his  own,  nor  any  of 
the  dear  delights  of  home  remain  undarkened  by  the 
shadow  of  his  friend.  She  could  not  speak  yet,  and, 
turning  her  eyes  to  the  fire,  she  asked,  — 

"  Why  study  me  ?  Have  you  no  better  book  ? " 
"  None  that  I  love  to  read  so  well  or  have  such 
need  to  understand;  because,  though  nearest  and 
dearest  as  you  are  to  me,  I  seem  to  know  you  less 
than  any  friend  I  have.  I  do  not  wish  to  wound  you, 
dear,  nor  be  exacting ;  but  since  we  were  married  you 
have  grown  more  shy  than  ever,  and  the  act  which 
should  have  drawn  us  tenderly  together  seems  to  have 
estranged  us.  You  never  talk  now  of  yourself,  or  ask 
me  to  explain  the  working  of  that  busy  mind  of  yours  ; 
and  lately  you  have  sometimes  shunned  me,  as  if  soli 
tude  were  pleasanter  than  my  society.  Is  it,  Sylvia  ? " 
•'  Sometimes  ;  I  always  liked  to  be  alone,  you  know." 
She  answered  as  truly  as  she  could,  feeling  that  his 
love  demanded  every  confidence  but  the  one  cruel  one 
which  would  destroy  its  peace  past  help. 

"  I  knew  I  had  a  most  tenacious  heart,  but  I  hoped 
it  was  not  a  selfish  one,"  he  sorrowfully  said.  "  Now 
I  see  that  it  is,  and  deeply  regret  that  my  hopeful 
spirit,  my  impatient  love,  has  brought  disappointment 
to  us  both.  I  should  have  waited  longer,  should  have 
been  less  confident  of  my  own  power  to  win  you,  and 


284  MOODS. 

never  let  you  waste  your  life  in  vain  endeavors  to  be 
happy  when  I  was  not  all  to  you  that  you  expected. 
I  should  not  have  consented  to  your  wish  to  spend 
the  winter  here  so  much  alone  with  me.  I  should 
have  known  that  such  a  quiet  home  and  studious  com 
panion  could  not  have  many  charms  for  a  young  girl 
like  you.  Forgive  me,  I  will  do  better,  and  this  one 
sided  life  of  ours  shall  be  changed ;  for  while  I  have 
been  happy  you  have  been  miserable." 

It  was  impossible  to  deny  it,  and  with  a  tearless 
sob  she  laid  her  arm  about  his  neck,  her  head  on  his 
shoulder,  and  mutely  confessed  the  truth  of  what  he 
said.  The  trouble  deepened  in  his  face,  but  he  spoke 
out  more  cheerfully,  believing  that  he  had  found  the 
secret  sorrow. 

"  Thank  heaven,  nothing  is  past  mending ;  and  we 
will  yet  be  happy.  An  entire  change  shall  be  made ; 
you  shall  no  longer  devote  yourself  to  me,  but  I  to 
you.  Will  you  go  abroad,  and  forget  this  dismal 
home  until  its  rest  grows  inviting,  Sylvia  ? " 

"  No,  Geoffrey,  not  yet.  I  will  learn  to  make  the 
home  pleasant,  I  will  work  harder,  and  leave  no  time 
for  ennui  and  discontent.  I  promised  to  make  your 
happiness,  and  I  can  do  it  better  here  than  anywhere. 
Let  me  try  again." 

"  No,  Sylvia,  you  work  too  hard  already ;  you  do 
everything  with  such  vehemence  you  wear  out  your 
body  before  your  will  is  weary,  and  that  brings  mel 
ancholy.  I  am  very  credulous,  but  when  I  see  that 
acts  belie  words  I  cease  to  believe.  These  months 


ASLEEP  AND  AWAKE.  285 

assure  me  that  you  are  not  happy ;  have  I  found  the 
secret  thorn  that  frets  you  ? " 

She  did  not  answer,  for  truth  she  could  not,  and 
falsehood  she  would  not,  give  him.  He  rose,  went 
walking  to  and  fro,  searching  memory,  heart,  and  con 
science  for  any  other  cause,  but  found  none,  and  saw 
only  one  way  out  of  his  bewilderment.  He  drew  a 
chair  before  her,  sat  down,  and,  looking  at  her  with 
the  masterful  expression  dominant  in  his  face,  asked 
briefly,  — 

"  Sylvia,  have  I  been  tyrannical,  unjust,  unkind, 
since  you  came  to  me  ? " 

"  0  Geoffrey,  too  generous,  too  just,  too  tender  !  " 

"  Have  I  claimed  any  rights  but  those  you  gave  me  ? 
entreated  or  demanded  any  sacrifices  knowingly  and 
wilfully  ? " 

"  Never." 

"  Now  I  do  claim  my  right  to  know  your  heart ;  I 
do  entreat  and  demand  one  thing,  your  confidence." 

Then  she  felt  that  the  hour  had  come,  and  tried  to 
prepare  to  meet  it  as  she  should  by  remembering,  that 
she  had  endeavored  prayerfully,  desperately,  despair 
ingly,  to  do  her  duty,  and  had  failed.  Warwick  was 
right,  she  could  not  forget  him.  There  was  such  vi 
tality  in  the  man  and  in  the  sentiment  he  inspired, 
that  it  endowed  his  memory  with  a  power  more  po 
tent  than  the  visible  presence  of  her  husband.  The 
knowledge  of  his  love  now  undid  the  work  that  igno 
rance  had  helped  patience  and  pride  to  achieve  before. 
Once  she  had  held  the  secret,  now  it  held  her ;  the 


286  MOODS. 

hidden  wound  was  poisoning  her  life,  and  tempting 
her  to  escape  by  thoughts  of  death.  Now  she  saw  the 
wisdom  of  Adam's  warning,  and  felt  that  he  knew 
both  his  friend's  heart  and  her  own  better  than  her 
self.  Now  she  bitterly  regretted  that  she  had  not 
spoken  out  when  he  was  there  to  help  her,  and  before 
the  least  deceit  had  taken  the  dignity  from  sorrow. 
Nevertheless,  though  she  trembled  she  resolved ;  and 
while  Moor  spoke  on,  she  made  ready  to  atone  for 
past  silence  by  a  perfect  loyalty  to  truth. 

"  My  wife,  concealment  is  not  generosity,  for  the 
heaviest  trouble  shared  together  could  not  so  take  the 
sweetness  from  my  life,  the  charm  from  home,  or 
make  me  more  miserable  than  this  want  of  confidence. 
It  is  a  double  wrong,  because  you  not  only  mar  my 
peace  but  destroy  your  own  by  wasting  health  and 
happiness  in  vain  endeavors  to  bear  some  grief  alone. 
Your  eye  seldom  meets  mine  now,  your  words  are 
measured,  your  actions  cautious,  your  innocent  gayety 
all  gone.  You  hide  your  heart  from  me,  you  hide 
your  face ;  I  seem  to  have  lost  the  frank  girl  whom  I 
loved,  and  found  a  melancholy  woman,  who  suffers 
silently  till  her  honest  nature  rebels,  and  brings  her 
to  confession  in  her  sleep.  There  is  no  page  of  my 
life  which  I  have  not  freely  shown  you ;  do  I  not  de 
serve  an  equal  candor  ?  Shall  I  not  receive  it  ? " 

"Yes!" 

"  Sylvia,  what  stands  between  us  ? " 

"  Adam  Warwick." 

Earnest  as  a  prayer,  brief  as  a  command,  had  been 


ASLEEP  AND  AWAKE.  287 

the  question ;  instantaneous  was  the  reply,  as  Sylvia 
knelt  down  before  him,  put  back  the  veil  that  should 
never  hide  her  from  him  any  more,  looked  up  into  her 
husband's  face  without  one  shadow  in  her  own,  and 
steadily  told  all. 

The  revelation  was  too  utterly  unexpected,  too  diffi 
cult  of  belief,  to  be  at  once  accepted  or  understood. 
Moor  started  at  the  name,  then  leaned  forward,  breath 
less  and  intent,  as  if  to  seize  the  words  before  they 
left  her  lips ;  words  that  recalled  incidents  and  acts 
dark  and  unmeaning  till  the  spark  of  intelligence  fired 
a  long  train  of  memories  and  enlightened  him  with 
terrible  rapidity.  Blinded  by  his  own  devotion  and 
the  knowledge  of  Adam's  character,  the  thought  that 
he  loved  Sylvia  never  had  occurred  to  him,  and  seemed 
incredible  even  when  her  own  lips  told  it.  She  had 
been  right  in  fearing  the  effect  this  knowledge  would 
have  upon  him.  It  stung  his  pride,  wounded  his 
heart,  and  for  a  time  at  least  marred  his  faith  in  love 
and  friendship.  As  the  truth  broke  over  him,  cold 
^and  bitter  as  a  billow  of  the  sea,  she  saw  gathering  in 
his  face  the  still  white  grief  and  indignation  of  an 
outraged  spirit,  suffering  with  all  a  woman's  pain, 
with  all  a  man's  intensity  of  passion.  His  eye  grew 
fiery  and  stern,  the  veins  rose  dark  upon  his  forehead, 
the  lines  about  the  mouth  showed  hard  and  grim,  the 
whole  face  altered  terribly.  As  she  looked,  Sylvia 
thanked  heaven  that  Warwick  was  not  there  to  feel 
the  sudden  atonement  for  an  innocent  offence  which 
his  friend  might  have  exacted  before  this  natural 
temptation  had  passed  by. 


2£SL  MOODS. 

\ 

-^"ow  I  have  given  all  my  confidence,  though  I  may 
have  broken  both  our  hearts  in  doing  it.  I  do  not 
hope  for  pardon  yet,  but  I  am  sure  of  pity,  and  I  leave 
my  fate  in  your  hands.  Geoffrey,  what  shall  I  do  ? " 

"  Wait  for  me."  And,  putting  her  away,  Moor  left 
the  room. 

Suffering  too  much  in  mind  to  remember  that  she 
had  a  body,  Sylvia  remained  where  she  was,  and  lean 
ing  her  head  upon  her  hands  tried  to  recall  what  had 
passed,  to  nerve  herself  for  what  was  to  come.  Her 
first  sensation  was  one  of  unutterable  relief.  The 
long  struggle  was  over ;  the  haunting  care  was  gone ; 
there  was  nothing  now  to  conceal ;  she  might  be  her 
self  again,  and  her  spirit  rose  with  something  of  its 
old  elasticity  as  the  heavy  burden  was  removed.  A 
moment  she  enjoyed  this  hard-won  freedom ;  then  the 
memory  that  the  burden  was  not  lost,  but  laid  on  other 
shoulders,  filled  her  with  an  anguish  too  sharp  to  find 
vent  in  tears,  too  deep  to  leave  any  hope  of  cure 
except  in  action.  But  how  act  ?  She  had  performed 
the  duty  so  long,  so  vainly  delayed,  and  when  the  first- 
glow  of  satisfaction  passed,  found  redoubled  anxiety, 
regret,  and  pain  before  her.  Clear  and  hard  the  truth 
stood  there,  and  no  power  of  hers  could  recall  the 
words  that  showed  it  to  her  husband,  could  give  them 
back  the  early  blindness,  or  the  later  vicissitudes  of 
hope  and  fear.  In  the  long  silence  that  filled  the 
room  she  had  time  to  calm  her  perturbation  and  com 
fort  her  remorse  by  the  vague  but  helpful  belief  which 
seldom  deserts  sanguine  spirits,  that  something,  as  yet 


ASLEEP  AND  AWAKE.  289 

unseen  and  unsuspected,  would  appear  to  heal  the 
breach,  to  show  what  was  to  be  done,  and  to  make  all 
happy  in  the  end. 

Where  Moor  went  or  how  long  he  stayed  Sylvia 
never  knew,  but  when  at  length  he  came,  her  first 
glance  showed  her  that  pride  is  as  much  to  be  dreaded 
as  passion.  No  gold  is  without  alloy,  and  now  she 
saw  the  shadow  of  a  nature  which  had  seemed  all 
sunshine.  She  knew  he  was  very  proud,  but  never 
thought  to  be  the  cause  of  its  saddest  manifestation  : 
one  which  showed  her  that  its  presence  could  make 
the  silent  sorrow  of  a  just  and  gentle  man  a  harder 
trial  to  sustain  than  the  hottest  anger,  the  bitterest 
reproach.  Scarcely  paler  than  when  he  went,  there 
was  no  sign  of  violent  emotion  in  his  countenance. 
His  eye  shone  keen  and  dark,  an  anxious  fold  crossed 
his  forehead,  and  a  melancholy  gravity  replaced  the 
cheerful  serenity  his  face  once  wore.  Wherein  the 
alteration  lay  Sylvia  could  not  tell,  but  over  the  whole 
man  some  subtle  change  had  passed.  The  sudden 
frost  which  had  blighted  the  tenderest  affection  of  his 
life  seemed  to  have  left  its  chill  behind,  robbing  his 
manner  of  its  cordial  charm,  his  voice  of  its  heartsome 
ring,  and  giving  him  the  look  of  one  who  sternly 
said,  "  I  must  suffer,  but  it  shall  be  alone." 

Cold  and  quiet,  he  stood  regarding  her  with  a 
strange  expression,  as  if  endeavoring  to  realize  the 
truth,  and  see  in  her  not  his  wife  but  Warwick's 
lover.  Oppressed  by  the  old  fear,  now  augmented  by 
a  measureless  regret,  she  could  only  look  up  at  him, 

19 


290  MOODS. 

feeling  that  her  husband  had  become  her  judge.  Yet 
as  she  looked  she  was  conscious  of  a  momentary  won 
der  at  the  seeming  transposition  of  character  in  the 
two  so  near  and  dear  to  her.  Strong-hearted  Warwick 
wept  like  any  child,  but  accepted  his  disappointment 
without  complaint  and  bore  it  manfully.  Moor,  from 
whom  she  would  sooner  have  expected  such  demon 
stration,  grew  stormy  first,  then  stern,  as  she  once  be 
lieved  his  friend  would  have  done.  She  forgot  that 
Moor's  pain  was  the  sharper,  his  wound  the  deeper, 
for  the  patient  hope  cherished  so  long ;  the  knowl 
edge  that  he  never  had  been  loved  as  he  loved ;  the 
sense  of  wrong  that  could  not  but  burn  even  in  the 
meekest  heart  at  such  a  late  discovery,  such  an  entire 
loss. 

Sylvia  spoke  first,  not  audibly,  but  with  a  little  ges 
ture  of  supplication,  a  glance  of  sorrowful  submission. 
He  answered  both,  not  by  lamentation  or  reproach, 
but  by  just  enough  of  his  accustomed  tenderness  in 
touch  and  tone  to  make  her  tears  break  forth,  as  he 
placed  her  in  the  ancient  chair  so  often  occupied  to 
gether,  took  the  one  opposite,  and,  sweeping  a  clear 
space  on  the  table  between  them,  looked  across  it 
with  the  air  of  a  man  bent  on  seeing  his  way  and  fol 
lowing  it  at  any  cost. 

"  Now,  Sylvia,  I  can  listen  as  I  should." 

"  0  Geoffrey,  what  can  I  say  ?  " 

"Repeat  all  you  have  already  told  me.  I  only 
gathered  one  fact  then,  now  I  want  the  circumstances, 
for  I  find  this  confession  difficult  of  belief." 


ASLEEP  AND  AWAKE.  291 

Perhaps  no  sterner  expiation  could  have  been  re 
quired  of  her  than  to  sit  there,  face  to  face,  eye  to  eye, 
and  tell  again  that  little  history  of  thwarted  love  and 
fruitless  endeavor.  Excitement  had  given  her  cour 
age  for  the  first  confession,  now  it  was  torture  to  care 
fully  repeat  what  had  poured  freely  from  her  lips 
before.  But  she  did  it,  glad  to  prove  her  penitence  by 
any  test  he  might  apply.  Tears  often  blinded  her, 
uncontrollable  emotion  often  arrested  her ;  and  more 
than  once  she  turned  on  him  a  beseeching  look,  which 
asked  as  plainly  as  words,  "  Must  I  go  on  ?  " 

Intent  on  learning  all,  Moor  was  unconscious  of 
the  trial  he  imposed,  unaware  that  the  change  in  him 
self  was  the  keenest  reproach  he  could  have  made,  and 
still,  with  a  persistency  as  gentle  as  inflexible,  he  pur 
sued  his  purpose  to  the  end.  When  great  drops  rolled 
down  her  cheeks  he  dried  them  silently;  when  she 
paused,  he  waited  till  she  calmed  herself ;  and  when 
she  spoke,  he  listened  with  few  interruptions  but  a 
question  now  and  then.  Occasionally  a  sudden  flush 
of  passionate  pain  swept  across  his  face,  as  some 
phrase,  implying  rather  than  expressing  Warwick's 
love  or  Sylvia's  longing,  escaped,  the  narrator's  lips ; 
and  when  she  described  their  parting  on  that  very 
spot,  his  eye  went  from  her  to  the  hearth  her  words 
seemed  to  make  desolate,  with  a  glance  she  never 
could  forget.  But  when  the  last  question  was  an 
swered,  the  last  appeal  for  pardon  brokenly  uttered, 
nothing  but  the  pale  pride  remained ;  and  his  voice 
was  cold  and  quiet  as  his  mien. 


292  MOODS. 

"  Yes,  it  is  this  which  has  baffled  and  kept  me  grop 
ing  in  the  dark  so  long,  for  I  wholly  trusted  what  I 
wholly  loved." 

"  Alas,  it  was  that  very  confidence  that  made  my 
task  seem  so  necessary  and  so  hard.  How  often  I 
longed  to  go  to  you  with  my  great  trouble  as  I  used 
to  do  with  lesser  ones  !  But  here  you  would  suffer 
more  than  I ;  and,  having  done  the  wrong,  it  was  for 
me  to  pay  the  penalty.  So,  like  many  another  weak 
yet  willing  soul,  I  tried  to  keep  you  happy  at  all 
costs." 

"  One  frank  word  before  I  married  you  would  have 
spared  us  this.  Could  you  not  foresee  the  end  and  dare 
to  speak  it,  Sylvia  ? " 

"  I  see  it  now,  I  did  not  then,  else  I  would  have 
spoken  as  freely  as  I  speak  to-night.  I  thought  I  had 
outlived  my  love  for  Adam ;  it  seemed  kind  to  spare 
you  a  knowledge  that  would  disturb  your  friendship, 
so,  though  I  told  the  truth,  I  did  not  tell  it  all.  I 
thought  temptations  came  from  without;  I  could 
withstand  such,  and  I  did,  even  when  it  wore  Adam's 
shape.  This  temptation  came  so  suddenly,  seemed 
so  harmless,  generous,  and  just,  that  I  yielded  to  it, 
unconscious  that  it  was  one.  Surely  I  deceived  my 
self  as  cruelly  as  I  did  you,  and  God  knows  I  have 
tried  to  atone  for  it  when  time  taught  me  the  fatal 
error  of  yielding  to  a  mood." 

"  Poor  child,  it  was  too  soon  for  you  to  play  the 
perilous  game  of  hearts.  I  should  have  known  it, 
and  left  you  to  the  safe  and  simple  joys  of  girlhood. 


ASLEEP  AND  AWAKE.  293 

Forgive  me  that  I  have  kept  you  a  prisoner  so  long ; 
take  off  the  fetter  I  put  on,  and  go,  Sylvia." 

"  No,  do  not  put  me  from  you  yet ;  do  not  think 
that  I  can  hurt  you  so,  and  then  be  glad  to  leave 
you  suffering  alone.  Look  like  your  kind  self  if  you 
can ;  talk  to  me  as  you  used  to  ;  let  me  show  you  my 
heart  and  you  will  see  how  large  a  place  you  fill  in  it. 
Let  me  begin  again,  for  now  the  secret  is  told,  there 
is  no  fear  to  keep  out  love ;  and  I  can  give  my  whole 
strength  to  learning  the  lesson  you  have  tried  so  pa 
tiently  to  teach." 

"  You  cannot,  Sylvia.  We  are  as  much  divorced  as 
if  judge  and  jury  had  decided  the  righteous  but  hard 
separation  for  us.  You  can  never  be  a  wife  to  me 
with  an  unconquerable  affection  in  your  heart ;  I  can 
never  be  your  husband  while  the  shadow  of  a  fear 
remains.  I  will  have  all  or  nothing." 

"  Adam  foretold  this.  He  knew  you  best,  and  I 
should  have  followed  the  brave  counsel  he  gave  me 
long  ago.  Oh,  if  he  were  only  here  to  help  us  now  ! " 

The  desire  broke  from  Sylvia's  lips  involuntarily  as 
she  turned  for  strength  to  the  strong  soul  that  loved 
her.  But  it  was  like  wind  to  smouldering  fire ;  a 
pang  of  jealousy  wrung  Moor's  heart,  and  he  spoke 
out  with  a  flash  of  the  eye  that  startled  Sylvia  more 
than  the  rapid  change  of  voice  and  manner. 

"  Hush !  Say  anything  of  yourself  or  me,  and  I 
can  bear  it,  but  spare  me  the  sound  of  Adam's  name 
to-night.  A  man's  nature  is  not  forgiving  like  a 
woman's,  and  the  best  of  us  harbor  impulses  you 


294  MOODS. 

know  nothing  of.  If  I  am  to  lose  wife,  friend,  and 
home,  for  God's  sake  leave  me  my  self-respect." 

All  the  coldness  and  pride  passed  from  Moor's  face 
as  the  climax  of  his  sorrow  came  ;  with  an  impetu 
ous  gesture  he  threw  his  arms  across  the  table,  and 
laid  down  his  head  .in  a  paroxysm  of  tearless  suffer 
ing  such  as  men  only  know. 

How  Sylvia  longed  to  speak !  But  what  con 
solation  could  the  tenderest  words  supply  ?  She 
searched  for  some  alleviating  suggestion,  some  hap 
pier  hope ;  none  came.  Her  eye  turned  to  the  pic 
tured  Fates  above  her  as  if  imploring  them  to  aid  her. 
But  they  looked  back  at  her  inexorably  dumb,  and 
instinctively  her  thought  passed  beyond  them  to  the 
Euler  of  all  fates,,  asking  the  help  which  never  is 
refused.  No  words  embodied  her  appeal,  no  sound 
expressed  it,  only  a  voiceless  cry  from  the  depths  of  a 
contrite  spirit,  owning  its  weakness,  making  known 
its  want.  She  prayed  for  submission,  but  her  deeper 
need  was  seen,  and  when  she  asked  for  patience  to 
endure,  Heaven  sent  her  power  to  act,  and  out  of  this 
sharp  trial  brought  her  a  better  strength  and  clearer 
knowledge  of  herself  than  years  of  smoother  expe 
rience  could  have  bestowed.  A  sense  of  security,  of 
stability,  came  to  her  as  that  entire  reliance  assured 
her  by  its  all-sustaining  power  that  she  had  found 
what  she  most  needed  to  make  life  clear  to  her  and 
duty  sweet.  With  her  face  in  her  hands,  she  sat,  for 
getful  that  she  was  not  alone,  as  in  that  brief  but 
precious  moment  she  felt  the  exceeding  comfort  of  a 


ASLEEP   AND  AWAKE.  295 

childlike  faith  in  the  one  Friend  who,  when  we  are 
deserted  by  all,  even  by  ourselves,  puts  forth  His 
hand  and  gathers  us  tenderly  to  Himself. 

Her  husband's,  voice  recalled  her,  and  looking  up 
she  showed  him  such  an  earnest,  patient  countenance, 
it  touched  him  like  an  unconscious  rebuke.  The  first 
tears  she  had  seen  rose  to  his  eyes,  and  all  the  old 
tenderness  came  back  into  his  voice,  softening  the 
dismissal  which  had  been  more  coldly  begun. 

"  Dear,  silence  and  rest  are  best  for  both  of  us  to 
night.  We  cannot  treat  this  trouble  as  we  should 
till  we  are  calmer ;  then  we  will  take  counsel  how 
soonest  to  end  what  never  should  have  been  begun. 
Forgive  me,  pray  for  me,  and  in  sleep  forget  me  for  a 
little  while." 

He  held  the  door  for  her,  but  as  she  passed  Sylvia 
lifted  her  face  for  the  good-night  caress  without  which 
she  had  never  left  him  since  she  became  his  wife. 
She  did  not  speak,  but  her  eye  humbly  besought  this 
token  of  forgiveness  ;  nor  was  it  denied.  Moor  laid  his 
hand  upon  her  lips,  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 

Such  a  little  thing :  but  it  overcame  Sylvia  with 
the  sorrowful  certainty  of  the  loss  which  had  befallen 
both,  and  she  crept  away,  feeling  herself  an  exile  from 
the  heart  and  home  whose  happy  mistress  she  might 
have  been. 

Moor  watched  the  little  figure  going  upward,  and 
weeping  softly  as  it  went,  as  if  he  echoed  the  sad 
"  never  any  more,"  which  those  tears  expressed,  and 
when  it  vanished  with  a  backward  look,  shut  himself 
in  alone  with  his  great  sorrow. 


296  MOODS. 

CHAPTEE  XIX. 

WHAT   NEXT? 

SYLVIA  laid  her  head  down  on  her  pillow,  believ 
ing  that  this  night  would  be  the  longest,  saddest 
she  had  ever  known.  But  before  she  had  time  to 
sigh  for  sleep  it  wrapped  her  in  its  comfortable  arms, 
and  held  her  till  day  broke.  Sunshine  streamed 
across  the  room,  and  early  birds  piped  on  the  budding 
boughs  that  swayed  before  the  window.  But  no 
morning  smile  saluted  her,  no  morning  flower  awaited 
her,  and  nothing  but  a  little  note  lay  on  the  impressed 
pillow  at  her  side. 

"  Sylvia,  I  have  gone  away  to  Faith,  because  this 
proud,  resentful  spirit  of  mine  must  be  subdued  before 
I  meet  you.  I  leave  that  behind  me  which  will  speak 
to  you  more  kindly,  calmly,  than  I  can  now,  and  show 
you  that  my  effort  has  been  equal  to  my  failure. 
There  is  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  submit ;  manfully 
if  I  must,  meekly  if  I  can ;  and  this  short  exile  will 
prepare  me  for  the  longer  one  to  come.  Take  counsel 
with  those  nearer  and  dearer  to  you  than  myself, 
and  secure  the  happiness  which  I  have  so  ignorantly 
delayed,  but  cannot  wilfully  destroy.  God  be  with 
you,  and  through  all  that  is  and  is  to  come,  remem 
ber  that  you  remain  beloved  forever  in  the  heart  of 
Geoffrey  Moor." 


WHAT  NEXT?  297 

Sylvia  had  known  many  sad  uprisings,  but  never 
a  sadder  one  than  this,  and  the  hours  that  followed 
aged  her  more  than  any  year  had  done.  All  day  she 
wandered  aimlessly  to  and  fro,  for  the  inward  conflict 
would  not  let  her  rest.  The  house  seemed  home  no 
longer  when  its  presiding  genius  was  gone,  and  every 
where  some  token  of  his  former  presence  touched  her 
with  its  mute  reproach. 

She  asked  no  counsel  of  her  family,  for  well  she 
knew  the  outburst  of  condemnation,  incredulity,  and 
grief  that  would  assail  her  there.  They  could  not 
help  her  yet ;  they  would  only  augment  perplexities, 
weaken  convictions,  and  distract  her  mind.  When 
she  was  sure  of  herself  she  would  tell  them,  endure 
their  indignation  and  regret,  and  steadily  execute  the 
new  purpose,  whatever  it  should  be. 

To  many  it  might  seem  an  easy  task  to  break  the 
bond  that  burdened  and  assume  the  tie  that  blessed. 
But  Sylvia  had  grown  wise  in  self-knowledge,  timor 
ous  through  self-delusion;  therefore  the  greater  the 
freedom  given  her,  the  more  she  hesitated  to  avail  her 
self  of  it.  The  nobler  each  friend  grew  as  she  turned 
from  one  to  the  other,  the  more  impossible  seemed 
the  decision ;  for  generous  spirit  and  loving  heart  con 
tended  for  the  mastery,  yet  neither  won.  She  knew 
that  Moor  had  put  her  from  him  never  to  be  recalled 
till  some  miracle  was  wrought  that  should  make  her 
truly  his.  This  renunciation  showed  her  how  much 
he  had  become  to  her,  how  entirely  she  had  learned 
to  lean  upon  him,  and  how  great  a  boon  such  perfect 


298  MOODS. 

love  was  in  itself.  Even  the  prospect  of  a  life  with 
Warwick  brought  forebodings  with  its  hope.  Reason 
made  her  listen  to  many  doubts  which  hitherto  passion 
had  suppressed.  Would  she  never  tire  of  his  unrest  ? 
Could  she  fill  so  large  a  heart  and  give  it  power  as 
well  as  warmth  ?  Might  not  the  two  wills  clash,  the 
ardent  natures  inflame  one  another,  the  stronger  in 
tellect  exhaust  the  weaker,  and  disappointment  come 
again  ?  And  as  she  asked  these  questions,  conscience, 
the  monitor  whom  no  bribe  can  tempt,  no  threat 
silence,  invariably  answered  "  Yes." 

But  chief  among  the  cares  that  beset  her  was  one 
that  grew  more  burdensome  with  thought.  By  her 
own  will  she  had  put  her  liberty  into  another's  keep 
ing  ;  law  confirmed  the  act,  gospel  sanctioned  the 
vow,  and  it  could  only  be  redeemed  by  paying  the 
costly  price  demanded  of  those  who  own  that  they 
have  drawn  a  blank  in  the  lottery  of  marriage.  Pub 
lic  opinion  is  a  grim  ghost  that  daunts  the  bravest, 
and  Sylvia  knew  that  trials  lay  before  her  from  which 
she  would  shrink  and  suffer,  as  only  a  woman  sensi 
tive  and  proud  as  she  could  shrink  and  suffer.  Once 
apply  this  remedy,  and  any  tongue  would  have  the 
power  to  wound,  any  eye  to  insult  with  pity  or  con 
tempt,  any  stranger  to  criticise  or  condemn,  and  she 
would  have  no  means  of  redress,  no  place  of  refuge, 
even  in  that  stronghold,  Adam's  heart. 

All  that  dreary  day  she  wrestled  with  these  stubborn 
facts,  but  could  neither  mould  nor  modify  them  as  she 
would,  and  evening  found  her  spent,  but  not  decided. 


WHAT  NEXT?  299 

Too  excited  for  sleep,  yet  too  weary  for  exertion,  she 
turned  bedward,  hoping  that  the  darkness  and  the 
silence  of  night  would  bring  good  counsel,  if  not 
rest. 

Till  now  she  had  shunned  the  library  as  one  shuns 
the  spot  where  one  has  suffered  most.  But  as  she 
passed  the  open  door,  the  gloom  that  reigned  within 
seemed  typical  of  that  which  had  fallen  on  its  absent 
master,  and,  following  the  impulse  of  the  moment, 
Sylvia  went  in  to  light  it  with  the  little  glimmer  of 
her  lamp.  Nothing  had  been  touched ;  for  no  hand 
but  her  own  preserved  the  order  of  this  room,  and  all 
household  duties  had  been  neglected  on  that  day. 
The  old  chair  stood  where  she  had  left  it,  and  over 
its  arm  was  thrown  the  velvet  coat  Moor  liked  to 
wear  at  this  household  try  sting-place.  Sylvia  bent 
to  fold  it  smoothly  as  it  hung,  and,  feeling  that  she 
must  solace  herself  with  some  touch  of  tenderness, 
laid  her  cheek  against  the  soft  garment,  whispering 
"  Good-night."  Something  glittered  on  the  cushion 
of  the  chair,  and  looking  nearer  she  found  a  steel- 
clasped  book,  upon  the  cover  of  which  lay  a  dead 
heliotrope,  a  little  key. 

It  was  Moor's  Diary,  and  now  she  understood  that 
passage  of  the  note  which  had  been  obscure  before. 
"  I  leave  that  behind  me  which  will  speak  to  you 
more  kindly,  calmly,  than  I  can  now,  and  show  you 
that  my  effort  has  been  equal  to  my  failure."  She 
had  often  begged  to  read  it,  threatened  to  pick  the 
lock,  and  felt  the  strongest  curiosity  to  learn  what 


300  MOODS. 

was  contained  in  the  long  entries  that  he  daily  made. 
Her,  requests  had  always  been  answered  with  the 
promise  of  entire  possession  of  the  book  when  the  year 
was  out.  Now  he  gave  it,  though  the  year  was  not 
gone,  and  many  leaves  were  yet  unfilled.  He  thought 
she  would  come  to  this  room  first,  would  see  her  morn 
ing  flower  laid  ready  for  her,  and,  sitting  in  what  they 
called  their  Eefuge,  would  draw  some  comfort  for  her 
self,  some  palliation  for  his  innocent  offence,  from  the 
record  so  abruptly  ended. 

She  took  it,  went  away  to  her  own  room,  unlocked 
the  short  romance  of  his  wedded  life,  and  found  her 
husband's  heart  laid  bare  before  her. 

It  was  a  strange  and  solemn  thing  to  look  so  deep 
ly  into  the  private  experience  of  a  fellow-being ;  to 
trace  the  birth  and  progress  of  purposes  and  passions, 
the  motives  of  action,  the  secret  aspirations,  the  be 
setting  sins  that  made  up  the  inner  life  he  had  been 
leading  beside  her.  Moor  wrote  with  an  eloquent 
sincerity,  because  he  had  put  himself  into  his  book, 
as  if,  feeling  the  need  of  some  confidante,  he  had  chosen 
the  only  one  that  pardons  egotism.  Here,  too,  Syl 
via  saw  her  chameleon  self,  etched  with  loving  care, 
endowed  with  all  gifts  and  graces,  studied  with  un 
flagging  zeal,  and  made  the  idol  of  a  life. 

Often  a  tuneful  spirit  seemed  to  assert  itself,  and, 
passing  from  smooth  prose  to  smoother  poetry,  sonnet, 
song,  or  psalm,  flowed  down  the  page  in  cadences 
stately,  sweet,  or  solemn,  filling  the  reader  with  de 
light  at  the  discovery  of  a  gift  so  genuine,  yet  so 


WHAT  NEXT?  301 

shyly  folded  up  within  itself,  unconscious  that  its 
modesty  was  the  surest  token  of  its  worth.  More 
than  once  Sylvia  laid  her  face  into  the  book,  and 
added  her  involuntary  comment  on  some  poem  or 
passage  made  pathetic  by  the  present;  more  than 
once  paused  bo  wonder,  with  exceeding  wonder,  why 
she  could  not  give  such  genius  and  affection  its  re 
ward  ;  and  more  than  once  asked  the  Maker  of  these 
mysterious  hearts  of  ours  to  work  the  miracle  which 
should  change  a  tender  friendship  to  an  undying  love. 

All  night  she  lay  there  like  some  pictured  Magda 
lene,  purer  but  as  penitent  as  Correggio's  Mary,  with 
the  book,  the  lamp,  the  melancholy  eyes,  the  golden 
hair  that  painters  love.  All  night  she  read,  gathering 
courage  and  consolation  from  those  pages ;  for  seeing 
what  she  was  not  showed  her  what  she  might  become, 
and  when  she  turned  the  little  key  upon  that  story 
without  an  end,  Sylvia  the  girl  was  dead,  but  Sylvia 
the  woman  had  begun  to  live. 

Lying  in  the  rosy  hush  of  dawn,  there  came  to  her 
a  sudden  memory,  — 

"  If  ever  you  need  help  that  Geoffrey  cannot  give, 
remember  Cousin  Faith." 

This  was  the  hour  Faith  foresaw.  Moor  had  gone 
to  her  with  his  trouble ;  why  not  follow,  and  let  this 
woman,  wise,  discreet,  and  gentle,  show  her  what 
should  come  next  ? 

The  newly  risen  sun  saw  Sylvia  away  upon  her 
journey  to  Faith's  home  among  the  hills.  She  lived 
alone,  a  cheerful,  busy,  solitary  soul,  demanding  little 


302  MOODS. 

of  others,  yet  giving  freely  to  whomsoever  asked  an 
alms  of  her. 

Sylvia  found  the  gray  cottage  nestled  in  a  hollow  of 
the  mountain  side ;  a  pleasant  hermitage,  secure  and 
still.  Mistress  and  maid  composed  the  household, 
but  none  of  the  gloom  of  isolation  darkened  the  sun 
shine  that  pervaded  it ;  peace  seemed  to  sit  upon  its 
threshold,  content  to  brood  under  its  eaves,  and  the 
atmosphere  of  home  to  make  it  beautiful. 

When  some  momentous  purpose  or  event  absorbs 
us,  we  break  through  fears  and  formalities,  act  out 
ourselves,  forgetful  of  reserve,  and  use  the  plainest 
phrases  to  express  emotions  which  need  no  ornament 
and  little  aid  from  language.  Sylvia  illustrated  this 
fact  then ;  for,  without  hesitation  or  embarrassment, 
she  entered  Miss  Dane's  door,  called  no  servant  to 
announce  her,  but  went,  as  if  by  instinct,  straight  to 
the  room  where  Faith  sat  alone,  and  with  the  simplest 
greeting  asked,  — 

"  Is  Geoffrey  here  ? " 

"  He  was  an  hour  ago,  and  will  be  an  hour  hence. 
I  sent  him  out  to  rest,  for  he  cannot  sleep.  I  am  glad 
you  came  to  him ;  he  has  not  learned  to  do  without 
you  yet." 

With  no  bustle  of  surprise  or  sympathy  Faith  put 
away  her  work,  took  off  the  hat  and  cloak,  drew  her 
guest  beside  her  on  the  couch  before  the  one  deep  win 
dow  looking  down  the  valley,  and  gently  chafing  the 
chilly  hands  in  warm  ones,  said  nothing  more  till 
Sylvia  spoke. 


WHAT  NEXT?  303 

"  He  has  told  you  all  the  wrong  I  have  done  him  ? " 

"  Yes,  and  found  a  little  comfort  here.  Do  you 
need  consolation  also  ? " 

"  Can  you  ask  ?  But  I  need  something  more,  and 
no  one  can  give  it  to  me  so  well  as  you.  I  want  to 
be  set  right,  to  hear  things  called  by  their  true  names, 
to  be  taken  out  of  myself  and  made  to  see  why  I  am 
always  doing  wrong  while  trying  to  do  well." 

"Your  father,  sister,  or  brother,  is  fitter  for  that 
task  than  I.  Have  you  tried  them  ?  " 

"No,  and  I  will  not.  They  love  ine,  but  they 
could  not  help  me ;  for  they  would  beg  me  to  conceal 
if  I  cannot  forget,  to  endure  if  I  cannot  conquer,  and 
abide  by  my  mistake  at  all  costs.  That  is  not  the 
help  I  want.  I  desire  to  know  the  one  just  thing  to 
be  done,  and  to  be  made  brave  enough  to  do  it,  though 
friends  lament,  gossips  clamor,  and  the  heavens  fall. 
I  am  in  earnest  now.  Eate  me  sharply,  drag  out  my 
weaknesses,  shame  my  follies,  show  no  mercy  to  my 
selfish  hopes ;  and  when  I  can  no  longer  hide  from 
myself  put  me  in  the  way  I  should  go,  and  I  will 
follow  it  though  my  feet  bleed  at  every  step." 

She  was  in  earnest  now,  terribly  so,  but  still  Faith 
drew  back,  though  her  compassionate  face  belied  her 
hesitating  words. 

"  Adam  is  wise  and  just,  but  he,  as  well  as  Geoffrey, 
loves  me  too  well  to  decide  for  me."  Sylvia  went 
on  :  "  You  stand  between  them,  wise  as  the  one,  gentle 
as  the  other,  and  you  do  not  care  for  me  enough  to 
let  affection  hoodwink  reason.  Faith,  you  bade  me 


304  MOODS. 

come ;  do  not  cast  me  off,  for  if  you  shut  your  heart 
against  me  I  know  not  where  to  go." 

Despairingly  she  spoke,  disconsolate  she  looked,  and 
Faith's  reluctance  vanished.  The  maternal  aspect  re 
turned,  her  voice  resumed  its  warmth,  her  eye  its 
benignity,  and  Sylvia  was  reassured  before  a  word 
was  spoken. 

"  I  do  not  cast  you  off,  nor  shut  my  heart  against 
you.  I  only  hesitated  to  assume  such  responsibility, 
and  shrank  from  the  task  because  of  compassion,  not 
coldness.  Sit  here,  and  tell  me  all  your  trouble, 
Sylvia." 

"  That  is  so  kind !  It  seems  quite  natural  to  turn 
to  you  as  if  I  had  a  claim  upon  you.  Let  me  have ; 
and  if  you  can,  love  me  a  little,  because  I  have  no 
mother,  and  need  one  very  much." 

"  My  child,  you  shall  not  need  one  any  more." 

"  I  feel  that,  and  am  comforted  already.  Tell  me  first 
which  of  the  two  who  love  me  I  should  have  married 
had  fate  given  me  a  choice  in  time." 

"  Neither." 

Sylvia  paled  and  trembled,  as  if  the  oracle  she  had 
invoked  was  an  unanswerable  voice  pronouncing  the 
truth  she  must  abide  by. 

"Why,  Faith?" 

"Because  you  were  too  young,  too  unstable,  and 
guided  by  impulse,  not  by  principle.  You,  of  all 
women,  should  have  waited  long,  chosen  carefully,  and 
guarded  yourself  from  every  shadow  of  doubt  before 
it  was  too  late." 


WHAT  NEXT?  305 

"  Had  I  done  so,  would  it  have  been  safe  and  happy 
to  have  loved  Adam  ?  " 

"  No,  Sylvia,  never." 

"Why,  Faith?" 

"  If  you  were  blind,  a  cripple,  or  cursed  with  some 
incurable  infirmity  of  body,  would  you  not  hesitate  to 
bind  yourself  and  your  affliction  to  another  ? " 

"  You  know  I  should  not  only  hesitate,  but  utterly 
refuse." 

'"I  do  know  it,  therefore  I  venture  to  tell  you  why, 
according  to  my  belief,  you  should  not  marry  Adam. 
There  are  diseases  more  subtle  and  dangerous  than 
any  that  vex  our  flesh,  —  diseases  that  should  be  as 
carefully  cured,  if  curable,  as  inexorably  prevented 
from  increasing,  as  any  malady  we  dread.  A  feeble 
will,  a  morbid  mind,  a  mad  temper,  an  evil  heart,  a 
blind  soul,  are  afflictions  to  be  as  much  regarded  as 
bodily  infirmities ;  nay,  more,  inasmuch  as  souls  are 
of  greater  value  than  perishable  flesh.  Where  this  is 
religiously  taught,  believed,  and  practised,  marriage 
becomes,  in  truth,  a  sacrament  blessed  of  God ;  children 
thank  parents  for  the  gift  of  life ;  parents  see  in  chil 
dren  living  satisfactions  and  rewards,  not  reproaches 
or  retributions  doubly  heavy  to  be  borne,  for  the 
knowledge  that  where  two  sinned,  many  must  inevi 
tably  suffer." 

"  You  try  to  tell  me  gently,  Faith,  but  I  see  that 
you  consider  me  one  of  the  innocent  unfortunates, 
who  have  no  right  to  marry  till  they  be  healed,  per 
haps  never.  I  have  dimly  felt  this  during  the  past 

20 


306  MOODS. 

year,  now  I  know  it,  and  thank  God  that  I  have  no 
child  to  reproach  me  hereafter  for  bequeathing  it  the 
mental  ills  I  have  not  yet  outlived." 

"Dear  Sylvia,  you  are  an  exceptional  case  in  all 
respects,  because  an  extreme  one.  The  ancient  the 
ology  of  two  contending  spirits  in  one  body  is 
strangely  exemplified  in  you,  for  each  rules  by  turn, 
and  each  helps  or  hinders  as  moods  and  circumstances 
lead.  Eyen  in  the  great  event  of  a  woman's  life  you 
were  thwarted  by  conflicting, powers,  —  impulse  and 
ignorance,  passion  and  pride,  hope  and  despair.  Now 
you  stand  at  the  parting  of  the  ways,  looking  wistfully 
along  the  pleasant  one  where  love  seems  to  beckon} 
while  I  point  down  the  rugged  one  that  leads  to  duty, 
and,  though  my  heart  aches  as  I  do  it,  counsel  you  as 
I  would  a  daughter  of  my  own." 

"  I  thank  you ;  I  will  follow  you,  but  life  looks  very 
barren." 

"  Not  as  barren  as  if  }7ou  possessed  your  desire,  and 
found  in  it  another  misery  and  mistake.  Could  you 
love  Geoffrey,  it  would  be  safe  and  well  with  you; 
loving  Adam,  it  would  be  neither.  Let  me  show  you 
why.  He  is  an  exception  like  yourself;  perhaps  that 
explains  your  attraction  for  each  other.  In  him  the 
head  rules,  in  Geoffrey  the  heart.  The  one  criticises, 
the  other  loves,  mankind.  Geoffrey  is  proud  and  pri 
vate  in  all  that  lies  nearest  him,  clings  to  persons,  and 
is  faithful  as  a  woman.  Adam  has  only  the  pride  of 
an  intellect  which  tests  all  things  and  abides  by  its 
own  insight.  He  clings  to  principles;  persons  are 


WHAT  NEXT?  307 

but  animated  facts  or  ideas ;  he  seizes,  searches,  uses 
them,  and  when  they  have  no  more  for  him,  drops 
them  like  the  husk,  whose  kernel  he  has  secured; 
passing  on  to  find  and  study  other  samples  without 
regret,  but  with  unabated  zeal.  For  life  to  him .  is 
perpetual  progress,  and  he  obeys  the  law  of  his  nature 
as  steadily  as  sun  or  sea.  Is  not  this  so  ? " 

"  All  true ;  what  more,  Faith  ? " 

"  Few  women,  if  wise,  would  dare  to  marry  this 
man,  noble  as  he  is,  till  time  has  tamed  and  experi 
ence  developed  him.  Even  then  the  risk  is  great,  for 
he  demands  and  unconsciously  absorbs  into  himself 
the  personality  of  others,  making  large  returns,  but  of 
a  kind  which  only  those  as  strong,  sagacious,  and 
steadfast  as  himself  can  receive  and  adapt  to  their  in 
dividual  uses,  without  being  overcome  and  possessed. 
That  none  of  us  should  be,  except  by  the  Spirit  strong 
er  than  man,  purer  than  woman.  You  feel,  though 
you  do  not  understand  this  power.  You  know  that 
his  presence  excites,  yet  wearies  you  ;  that,  while  you 
love,  you  fear  him,  and  even  when  you  long  to  be  all 
in  all  to  him,  you  doubt  your  ability  to  make  his  hap 
piness.  Am  I  not  right  ? " 

"  I  must  say  yes." 

"  Then  it  is  scarcely  necessary  for  me  to  tell  you  that 
I  think  this  unequal  marriage  would  be  but  a  brief 
one  for  you ;  bright  at  the  beginning,  dark  at  its  end. 
With  hi,m  you  would  exhaust  yourself  in  passionate 
endeavors  to  follow  where  he  led.  He  would  not  see 
this  ;  you  would  not  confess  it,  but  too  late  you  would 


308  MOODS. 

both  learn  that  you  were  too  young,  too  frail  in  all 
but  the  strength  of  love,  to  be  his  wife.  It  is  like  a 
wood  bird  mating  with  an  eagle ;  straining  its  little 
wings  to  scale  the  sky  with  him,  blinding  itself  with 
gazing  at  the  sun,  vainly  striving  to  fill  and  warm  the 
wild  eyrie,  and  perishing  in  the  stern  solitude  the 
other  loves." 

"  Faith,  you  frighten  me  !  You  seem  to  see  and 
show  me  all  the  dim  forebodings  I  have  hidden  away 
from  myself  because  I  could  not  understand  or  dared 
not  face  them.  How  have  you  learned  so  much  ? 
How  can  you  read  me  so  well  ? " 

"  I  had  an  unhappy  girlhood  in  a  discordant  home, 
and  there  was  no  escape  except  by  a  marriage  that 
would  be  slavery  to  me.  Many  cares  and  losses  made 
me  early  old,  and  taught  me  to  observe  the  failures, 
mistakes,  and  burdens  of  others.  Since  then  solitude 
has  led  me  to  study  and  reflect  upon  the  question 
toward  which  my  thoughts  inevitably  turned." 

"But,  Faith,  why  have  you  never  found  a  home 
and  partner  for  yourself,  as  other  women  do  ?  —  you 
who  are  so  nobly  fitted  for  all  the  duties,  joys,  and 
sorrows  of  married  life  ? " 

"  Because  I  never  met  the  man  who  could  satisfy 
me.  My  ideal  is  a  high  one,  and  I  believe  that  what 
ever  we  are  worthy  of  we  shall  find  and  enjoy  here 
after  if  not  here." 

"  Not  even  Adam  ?  Surely  he  is  heroic  enough 
for  any  woman's  ideal." 

"  Not  even  Adam,  for  the  reasons  I  have  told  you. 


WHAT  NEXT?  309 

I  know  his  value,  and  feel  the  charm  of  his  strength, 
truth,  and  courage,  but  I  should  not  dare  to  marry 
him.  Sylvia,  unhappy  marriages  are  the  tragedies  of 
the  world,  and  will  be  till  men  and  women  are  taught 
to  make  principle  not  pleasure,  love  not  passion, 
mutual  fitness  not  reckless  impulse,  the  guides  and 
guards  to  the  most  beautiful  and  sacred  relation  God 
gives  us  for  our  best  training  and  highest  happiness." 

"  Ah,  if  some  one  had  told  me  these  things  a  year 
ago,  how  much  pain  I  might  have  spared  myself  and 
others !  Prue  thinks  whatever  is  is  right,  and  poor 
Papa  cares  only  to  see  me  happy.  All  this  will  break 
his  heart." 

Sylvia  paused  to  sigh  over  his  great  disappointment ; 
then  returned  with  a  still  heavier  sigh  to  her  own. 

"  Who  told  you  so  much  about  us  ?  You  cannot 
have  divined  it  all  ? " 

"  Concerning  yourself  Geoffrey  told  me  much,  but 
Adam  more." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ?  Has  he  been  here  ?  When, 
Faith,  when  ? "  , 

Light  and  color  flashed  back  into  Sylvia's  face,  and 
the  eagerness  of  her  voice  was  a  pleasant  sound  after 
the  despair  which  had  saddened  it  before.  Faith 
answered  fully  and  with  care,  while  the  compassion 
of  her  look  deepened  as  she  spoke,  — 

"  I  saw  him  but  a  week  ago  ;  vehement  and  vigor 
ous  as  ever.  He  has  come  hither  often  during  the 
winter.  He  said  you  bade  him  hear  of  you  through 
me ;  that  he  preferred  to  come,  not  write,  for  letters 


310  MOODS. 

were  often  false  interpreters,  but  face  to  face  one  gets 
the  real  thought  of  one's  friend  by  look  as  well  as 
word,  and  the  result  is  satisfactory." 

"  That  is  Adam  !  But  what  more  did  he  say  ? 
How  did  you  advise  him  ?  I  know  he  asked  counsel 
of  you,  as  we  all  have  done." 

"  He  did,  and  I  gave  it  as  frankly  as  to  you  and 
Geoffrey.  He  made  me  understand  you,  judge  you 
leniently,  see  in  you  the  virtues  you  have  cherished 
despite  drawbacks  such  as  few  have  to  struggle  with. 
Your  father  made  Adam  his  confessor  during  the 
happy  month  when  you  first  knew  him.  I  need  not 
tell  you  how  he  received  and  preserved  such  a  trust. 
He  betrayed  no  confidence,  but  in  speaking  of  you  I 
saw  that  his  knowledge  of  the  father  taught  him  to 
understand  the  daughter.  It  was  well  and  beautifully 
done,  and  did  we  need  anything  to  endear  him  to  us 
this  trait  of  character  would  do  it ;  for  it  is  a  rare  en 
dowment,  —  the  power  of  overcoming  all  obstacles 
of  pride,  age,  and  the  sad  reserve  self-condemnation 
brings  us,  and  making  confession  a  grateful  healing." 

"  I  know  it ;  we  tell  our  sorrows  to  such  as  Geof 
frey,  our  sins  to  such  as  Adam.  But,  Faith,  when 
you  spoke  of  me,  did  you  say  to  him  what  you  have 
been  saying  to  me  about  my  unfitness  to  be  his  wife 
because  of  inequality  and  my  unhappy  inheritance  ?" 

"  Could  I  do  otherwise  when  he  fixed  that  com 
manding  eye  of  his  upon  me,  asking,  '  Is  my  love  as 
wise  as  it  is  warm  ? '  He  is  one  of  those  who  force 
the  hardest  truths  from  us  by  the  simple  fact  that 


WHAT  NEXT?  311 

they  can  bear  it,  and  would  do  the  same  for  us.  He 
needed  it  then ;  for  though  instinct  was  right,  —  hence 
his  anxious  question,  —  his  heart,  never  so  entirely 
roused  as  now,  made  it  difficult  for  him  to  judge  of 
your  relations  to  each  other,  and  there  my  woman's 
insight  helped  him." 

"  What  did  he  do  when  you  told  him  ?  I  see  that 
you  hesitate  to  tell  me.  I  think  you  have  been  pre 
paring  me  to  hear  it.  Speak  out.  Though  my  cheeks 
whiten  and  my  hands  tremble,  I  can  bear  it,  for  you 
shall  be  the  law  by  which  I  will  abide." 

"  You  shall  be  a  law  to  yourself,  my  brave  Sylvia. 
Put  your  hands  in  mine,  and  hold  fast  to  the  friend 
who  loves  and  honors  you  for  this.  I  will  tell  you 
what  Adam  did  and  said.  He  sat  in  deep  thought 
many  minutes  ;  but  with  him  to  see  is  to  do,  and  soon 
he  turned  to  me  with  the  courageous  expression  which 
in  him  signifies  that  the  fight  is  fought,  the  victory 
won.  '  It  is  necessary  to  be  true,  it  is  not  necessary 
to  be  happy.  I  would  never  marry  Sylvia,  even  if 
I  might,'  —  and  with  that  paraphrase  of  words,  whose 
meaning  seemed  to  fit  his  need,  he  went  away.  I 
think  he  will  not  come  again  either  to  me — or  you." 

How  still  the  room  grew  as  Faith's  reluctant  lips 
uttered  the  last  words  !  Sylvia  sat  motionless,  looking 
out  into  the  sunny  valley  with  eyes  that  saw  nothing 
but  the  image  of  that  beloved  friend  leaving  her  per 
haps  forever.  Well  she  knew  that  with  this  man  to 
see  was  to  do,  and  with  a  woful  sense  of  desolation 
falling  cold  upon  her  heart,  she  felt  that  there  was 


312  MOODS. 

nothing  more  to  hope  for  but  a  brave  submission  like 
his  own.  Yet  in  that  pause  there  came  a  feeling  of 
relief  after  the  first  despair.  The  power  of  choice  was 
no  longer  left  her,  and  the  help  she  needed  was  be 
stowed  by  one  who  could  decide  against  himself,  in 
spired  by  a  sentiment  wrhich  curbed  a  strong  man's 
love  of  self,  and  made  it  subject  to  a  just  man's  love  of 
right.  Great  examples  never  lose  their  virtue ;  what 
Pompey  was  to  Warwick  that  Warwick  became  to 
Sylvia,  and  in  the  moment  of  supremest  sorrow  she  felt 
the  fire  of  a  noble  emulation  kindled  in  her  from  the 
spark  he  left  behind. 

"  Faith,  what  must  I  do  ? " 

"  Your  duty." 

"And  that  is?" 

"  To  love  and  live  for  Geoffrey." 

"  Can  I  ever  forget  ?  Will  he  ever  forgive  ?  Is 
there  anything  before  me  but  one  long  repentance  for 
the  suffering  I  have  given  ? " 

"  The  young  always  think  that  life  is  ruined  by  one 
misfortune,  one  mistake;  but  they  learn  that  it  is 
possible  to  forget,  forgive,  and  live  on  till  they  have 
wrung  both  strength  and  happiness  out  of  the  hard 
experience  that  seemed  to  crush  them.  Wait  a  year, 
do  nothing  hastily,  lest,  when  the  excitement  of  this 
hour  is  past,  you  find  you  have  renounced  or  promised 
more  than  you  can  give  up  or  perform.  Geoffrey  will 
pardon  freely,  wait  patiently,  and  if  I  know  you  both, 
will  welcome  back  in  time  a  wife  who  will  be  worthy 
of  his  love  and  confidence." 


WHAT  NEXT?  313 

"  Can  time  work  that  miracle  ? "  asked  Sylvia,  ready 
to  learn  more,  yet  incredulous  of  the  possibility  of 
such  an  utter  change  in  herself. 

"  You  have  been  the  victim  of  moods,  now  live 
by  principle,  and  hold  fast  by  the  duty  you  see  and 
acknowledge.  Let  nothing  turn  you  from  it ;  shut 
your  ears  to  the  whispers  of  temptation,  keep  your 
thoughts  from  straying,  your  heart  full  of  hope,  your 
soul  of  faith,  humility,  submission,  and  leave  the  rest 
to  God." 

"  I  will !     Faith,  what  comes  next  ? " 

"  This."  And  she  was  gathered  close  while  Faith 
confessed  how  hard  her  task  had  been  by  letting  tears 
fall  fast  upon  the  head  which  seemed  to  have  found 
its  proper  resting-place,  as  if,  despite  her  courage  and 
her  wisdom,  her  woman's  heart  was  half  broken  with 
its  pity.  Better  than  any  words  was  the  motherly 
embrace,  the  tender  tears,  the  balm  of  sympathy  which 
soothed  the  wounds  it  could  not  heal. 

Leaning  on  each  other,  the  two  hearts  talked  to 
gether  in  the  silence,  feeling  the  beauty  of  the  tie  kind 
Kature  weaves  between  consoler  and  consoled.  Faith 
often  turned  her  lips  to  Sylvia's  forehead,  brushed 
back  her  hair  with  a  lingering  touch,  and  drew  her 
closer,  as  if  it  was  very  sweet  to  see  and  feel  the  young 
creature  in  her  arms.  Sylvia  lay  there,  tearless  and 
tranquil,  thinking  thoughts  for  which  she  had  no 
words,  trying  to  prepare  herself  for  the  life  before  her, 
and  to  pierce  the  veil  that  hid  the  future.  Her  eyes 
rested  on  the  valley  where  the  river  flowed,  the  elms 


314  MOODS. 

waved  their  budding  boughs  in  the  bland  air,  and  the 
meadows  wore  their  earliest  tinge  of  green.  But  she 
was  not  conscious  of  these  things  till  the  sight  of  a 
solitary  figure  coming  slowly  up  the  hill  recalled  her 
to  the  present  and  the  duties  it  still  held  for  her. 

"  Here  is  Geoffrey  !  How  wearily  he  walks,  how 
changed  and  old  he  looks,  —  oh,  why  was  I  born  to 
be  a  curse  to  all  who  love  me  ! " 

"  Hush,  Sylvia,  say  anything  but  that,  because  it 
casts  reproach  upon  your  father.  Your  life  is  but  just 
begun ;  make  it  a  blessing,  not  a  curse,  as  all  of  us 
have  power  to  do ;  and  remember  that  for  every  afflic 
tion  there  are  two  helpers,  who  can  heal  or  end  the 
heaviest  we  know,  —  Time  and  Death.  The  first  we 
may  invoke  and  wait  for ;  the  last  God  alone  can  send 
when  it  is  better  not  to  live." 

"  I  will  try  to  be  patient.  Will  you  meet  and  tell 
Geoffrey  what  has  passed  ?  I  have  no  strength  left 
but  for  passive  endurance." 

Faith  went ;  Sylvia  heard  the  murmur  of  earnest 
conversation ;  then  steps  came  rapidly  along  the  hall, 
and  Moor  was  in  the  room.  She  rose  involuntarily, 
but  for  a  moment  neither  spoke,  for  never  had  they 
met  as  now.  Each  regarded  the  other  as  if  a  year  had 
rolled  between  them  since  they  parted,  and  each  saw 
in  the  other  the  changes  that  one  day  had  wrought. 
Neither  the  fire  of  resentment  nor  the  frost  of  pride 
now  rendered  Moor's  face  stormy  or  stern.  Anxious 
and  worn  it  was,  with  newly  graven  lines  upon  the 
forehead,  and  melancholy  curves  about  the  mouth,  but 


WHAT  NEXT?  315 

the  peace  of  a  conquered  spirit  touched  it  with  a  pale 
serenity,  and  some  perennial  hope  shone  in  the  glance 
he  bent  upon  his  wife.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life 
Sylvia  was  truly  beautiful,  —  not  physically,  for  never 
had  she  looked  more  weak  and  wan,  but  spiritually, 
as  the  inward  change  made  itself  manifest  in  an  in 
describable  expression  of  meekness  and  of  strength. 
With  suffering  came  submission,  with  repentance  came 
regeneration,  and  the  power  of  the  woman  yet  to  be, 
touched  with  beauty  the  pathos  of  the  woman  now 
passing  through  the  fire. 

"  Faith  has  told  you  what  has  passed  between  us, 
and  the  advice  she  gives  us  in  our  present  strait  ? " 

"  I  submit,  Sylvia ;  I  can  still  hope  and  wait." 

So  humbly  he  said  it,  so  heartily  he  meant  it,  she 
felt  that  his  love  was  as  indomitable  as  Warwick's 
will,  and  the  wish  to  be  worthy  of  it  woke  with  all  its 
old  intensity,  since  no  other  was  possible  to  her. 

"  It  is  not  for  one  so  unstable  as  I  to  say,  '  I  shall 
not  change.'  I  leave  all  to  time  and  my  earnest  long 
ing  to  do  right.  Go,  and  leave  me  to  grow  worthy  of 
you ;  and  if  death  parts  us,  remember  that  however  I 
may  thwart  your  life  here,  there  is  a  beautiful  eternity 
where  you  may  forget  me  and  be  happy." 

"  I  will  go,  I  will  stay  till  you  recall  me,  but  death 
will  not  change  me.  Love  is  immortal,  dear,  and  even 
in  the  '  beautiful  eternity '  I  shall  still  hope  and  wait:" 

This  invincible  fidelity,  so  patient,  so  persistent,  im 
pressed  Sylvia  like  a  prophecy,  and  remained  to  com 
fort  her  in  the  hard  year  to  come. 


316  MOODS. 

How  soon  it  was  all  over,  —  the  return  to  separate 
homes,  the  disclosures,  and  the  storms ;  the  prepara 
tions  for  the  solitary  voyage,  for  Moor  decided  to  go 
abroad,  the  last  charges  and  farewells  ! 

Max  would  not,  and  Prue  could  not,  go  to  see 
the  traveller  off,  —  the  former  too  angry  to  lend  his 
countenance  to  what  he  termed  a  barbarous  banish 
ment  ;  the  latter,  being  half  blind  with  crying,  stayed 
to  nurse  Jessie,  whose  soft  heart  was  nearly  broken  at 
what  seemed  to  her  the  most  direful  affliction  under 
heaven. 

But  Sylvia  and  her  father  followed  Moor  till  his  foot 
left  the  soil,  and  still  lingered  on  the  wharf  to  watch 
the  steamer  out  of  port.  An  uncongenial  place  in 
which  to  part ;  carriages  rolled  up  and  down,  a  clamor 
of  voices  filled  the  air,  the  little  steam-tug  snorted 
with  impatience,  and  the  waves  flowed  seaward  with 
the  ebbing  of  the  tide.  But  father  and  daughter  saw 
only  one  object,  heard  only  one  sound,  —  Moor's  face 
as  it  looked  down  upon  them  from  the  deck,  Moor's 
voice  as  he  sent  cheery  messages  to  those  left  behind. 
Mr.  Yule  was  endeavoring  to  reply  as  cheerily,  and 
Sylvia  was  gazing  with  eyes  that  saw  very  dimly 
through  their  tears,  when  both  were  aware  of  an  in 
stantaneous  change  in  the  countenance  they  watched. 
Something  beyond  themselves  seemed  to  arrest  Moor's 
eye  ;  a  moment  he  stood  intent  and  motionless,  then 
flushed  to  the  forehead  with  the  dark  glow  Sylvia  re 
membered  well,  waved  his  hand  to  them,  and  vanished 
down  the  cabin  stairs. 


WHAT  NEXT?  317 

"  Papa,  what  did  he  see  ? " 

There  was  no  need  of  any  answer,  for  Warwick 
came  striding  through  the  crowd,  saw  them,  paused 
with  both  hands  out,  and  a  questioning  glance  as  if 
uncertain  of  his  greeting.  With  one  impulse  the 
hands  were  taken  ;  Sylvia  could  not  speak,  her  father 
could,  and  did  approvingly,  — 

"  Welcome,  Adam ;  you  are  come  to  say  good-by 
to  Geoffrey  ? " 

"  Eatlier  to  you,  sir;  he  needs  none,  I  go  with  him." 

"  With  him  ! "  echoed  both  hearers. 

"  Ay,  that  I  will !  Did  you  think  I  would  let  him 
go  away  alone,  feeling  bereaved  of  wife  and  home  and 
friend  ? " 

"  We  should  have  known  you  better.  But,  War 
wick,  he  will  shun  you ;  he  hid  himself  just  now  as 
you  approached ;  he  has  tried  to  forgive,  but  he  can 
not  so  soon  forget." 

"  All  the  more  need  of  my  helping  him  to  do  both. 
He  cannot  shun  me  long  with  no  hiding-place  to  fly 
to  but  the  sea,  and  I  will  so  gently  constrain  him  by 
the  old-time  love  we  bore  each  other,  that  he  must 
relent  and  take  me  back  into  his  heart  again." 

"  0  Adam  !  go  with  him,  stay  with  him,  and  bring 
him  safely  back  to  me  when  time  has  helped  us  all." 

"  I  shall  do  it,  God  willing." 

Unmindful  of  all  else,  Warwick  bent  and  took  her 
to  him  as  he  gave  the  promise,  seemed  to  put  his 
whole  heart  into  a  single  kiss,  and  left  her  trembling 
with  the  stress  of  his  farewell  She  saw  him  cleave 


318  MOODS. 

his  way  through  the  throng,  leap  the  space  left  by  the 
gangway  just  withdrawn,  and  vanish  in  search  of  that 
lost  friend.  Then  she  turned  her  face  to  her  father's 
shoulder,  conscious  of  nothing  but  the  fact  that  War 
wick  had  come  and  gone. 

A  cannon  boomed,  the  crowd  cheered,  the  last  cable 
was  flung  off,  and  the  steamer  glided  from  her  moor 
ings  with  the  surge  of  water  and  the  waft  of  wind, 
like  some  sea-monster  eager  to  be  out  upon  the  ocean 
free  again. 

"  Look  up,  Sylvia ;  she  will  soon  pass  from  sight." 

"  Are  they  there  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Then  I  do  not  care  to  see.  Look  for  me,  father, 
and  tell  me  when  they  come." 

"  They  will  not  come,  dear  ;  both  have  said  good-by, 
and  we  have  seen  the  last  of  them  for  many  a  long 
day." 

"  They  will  come  !  Adam  will  bring  Geoffrey  to 
show  me  they  are  friends  again.  I  know  it ;  you  shall 
see  it.  Lift  me  to  that  block,  and  watch  the  deck  with 
me  that  we  may  see  them  the  instant  they  appear." 

Up  she  sprang,  eyes  clear  now,  nerves  steady,  faith 
strong.  Leaning  forward  so  utterly  forgetful  of  her 
self,  she  would  have  fallen  into  the  green  water  tum 
bling  there  below,  had  not  her  father  held  her  fast. 
How  slowly  the  minutes  seemed  to  pass,  how  rapidly 
the  steamer  seemed  to  glide  away,  how  heavily  the 
sense  of  loss  weighed  on  her  heart  as  wave  after  wave 
rolled  between  her  and  her  heart's  desire ! 


WHAT  NEXT?  319 

"  Come  down,  Sylvia,  it  is  giving  yourself  useless 
pain  to  watch  and  wait.  Come  home,  my  child,  and 
let  us  comfort  each  other." 

She  did  not  hear  him ;  for  as  he  spoke,  the  steamer 
swung  slowly  round  to  launch  itself  into  the  open  bay, 
and  with  a  cry  that  drew  many  eyes  upon  the  young 
figure  with  its  face  of  pale  expectancy,  Sylvia  saw  her 
hope  fulfilled. 

"  I  knew  they  would  come !  See,  father,  see  ! 
Geoffrey  is  smiling  as  he  waves  his  handkerchief, 
and  Adam's  hand  is  on  his  shoulder.  Answer  them  ! 
oh,  answer  them  !  I  can  only  look." 

The  old  man  did  answer  them  enthusiastically,  and 
Sylvia  stretched  her  arms  across  the  widening  space 
as  if  to  bring  them  back  again.  Side  by  side  the 
friends  stood  now ;  Moor's  eye  upon  his  wife,  while 
from  his  hand  the  little  flag  of  peace  streamed  in  the 
wind.  But  Warwick's  glance  was  turned  upon  his 
friend,  and  Warwick's  hand  already  seemed  to  claim 
the  charge  he  had  accepted. 

Standing  thus  they  passed  from  sight,  never  to 
come  sailing  home  together  as  the  woman  on  the 
shore  was  praying  God  to  let  her  see  them  come. 


320  MOODS. 

CHAPTEE  XX. 

A  YEAR. 

YLYIA  was  spared  all  effort  but  passive  endur- 
ance  during  the  first  month  of  trial,  for  she  fell 
ill.  The  overwrought  mind  preyed  upon  the  body, 
and  exhaustion  forced  both  to  rest.  For  a  few  days 
there  was  danger,  and  she  knew  it,  yet  was  not  glad 
as  she  once  would  have  been.  Lying  in  the  shadow 
of  death,  her  life  looked  such  a  sorrowful  failure  she 
longed  for  a  chance  to  retrieve  it.  What  had  she  done 
worth  the  doing  ?  Whom  had  she  made  happy  ? 
Where  was  the  humble  satisfaction  that  should  come 
hand  in  hand  with  death  ?  There  was  a  time  when 
she  would  have  answered  these  self-accusations  by 
saying,  "  It  is  my  fate,"  and  so  drifted  on  to  life  or 
death,  ready  for  neither.  Now  conscience  as  well  as 
heart  suffered,  and  a  nobler  courage  than  resignation 
was  growing  in  her.  An  earnest  desire  to  atone,  to 
rise  above  all  obstacles  and  turn  the  seeming  defeat 
into  a  sweet  success,  so  possessed  her  that  it  seemed 
cowardly  to  die,  and  she  asked  for  life,  feeling  that 
she  had  learned  to  use  if  not  to  enjoy  it  more  truly 
than  before.  In  those  quiet  weeks  of  enforced  seclu 
sion  she  grew  fast,  and  when  she  rose  a  stronger  and 
more  patient  soul  shone  through  the  frail  body  like 
the  flame  that  makes  the  lamp  transparent. 


A    YEAR.  321 

The  ensuing  year  seemed  fuller  of  events  than  any 
Sylvia  had  ever  known.  At  first  she  found  it  very 
hard  to  live  her  life  alone ;  for  inward  cares  oppressed 
her,  and  external  trials  were  not  wanting.  Only  to 
the  few  who  had  a  right  to  know,  had  the  whole 
trouble  been  confided.  They  were  discreet  from  family 
pride,  if  from  no  tenderer  feeling;  but  the  curious 
world  outside  of  that  small  circle  was  full  of  shrewd 
surmises,  of  keen  eyes  for  discovering  domestic 
breaches,  and  shrill  tongues  for  proclaiming  them. 
Warwick  escaped  suspicion,  being  so  little  known,  so 
seldom  seen ;  but  for  the  usual  nine  days  matrons 
and  venerable  maids  wagged  their  caps,  lifted  their 
hands,  and  sighed  as  they  sipped  their  dish  of  scandal 
and  of  tea,  — 

"  Poor  young  man  !  I  always  said  how  it  would  be, 
she  was  so  peculiar.  My  dear  creature,  have  n't  you 
heard  that  Mrs.  Moor  is  n't  happy  with  her  husband, 
and  that  he  has  gone  abroad  quite  broken-hearted  ?  " 

Sylvia  felt  this  deeply,  but  received  it  as  her  just 
punishment,  and  bore  herself  so  meekly  that  public 
opinion  soon  turned  a  somersault,  and  the  murmur 
changed  to,  — 

"  Poor  young  thing  !  what  could  she  expect  ?  My 
dear,  I  have  it  from  the  best  authority,  that  Mr.  Moor 
has  made  her  miserable  for  a  year,  and  now  left  her 
broken-hearted."  After  that  the  gossips  took  up  some 
newer  tragedy,  and  left  Mrs.  Moor  to  mend  her  heart 
as  best  she  could,  a  favor  very  gratefully  received. 

As  Hester  Prynne  seemed  to  see  some  trace  of  her 

21 


322  MOODS. 

own  sin  in  every  bosom,  by  the  glare  of  the  Scarlet 
Letter  burning  on  her  own,  so  Sylvia,  living  in  the 
shadow  of  a  household  grief,  found  herself  detecting 
various  phases  of  her  own  experience  in  others.  She 
had  joined  that  sad  sisterhood  called  disappointed 
women;  a  larger  class  than  many  deem  it  to  be, 
though  there  are  few  of  us  who  have  not  seen  mem 
bers  of  it.  Unhappy  wives ;  mistaken  or  forsaken 
lovers ;  meek  souls,  who  make  life  a  long  penance  for 
the  sins  of  others ;  gifted  creatures  kindled  into  fitful 
brilliancy  by  some  inward  fire  that  consumes  but  can 
not  warm.  These  are  the  women  who  fly  to  convents, 
write  bitter  books,  sing  songs  full  of  heartbreak,  act 
splendidly  the  passion  they  have  lost  or  never  won ; 
who  smile,  and  try  to  lead  brave  uncomplaining 
lives,  but  whose  tragic  eyes  betray  them,  whose  voices, 
however  sweet  or  gay,  contain  an  undertone  of  hope 
lessness,  whose  faces  sometimes  startle  one  with  an 
expression  which  haunts  the  observer  long  after  it  is 
gone. 

Undoubtedly  Sylvia  would  have  joined  the  melan 
choly  chorus,  and  fallen  to  lamenting  that  ever  she 
was  born,  had  she  not  possessed  a  purpose  that  took 
her  out  of  herself  and  proved  her  salvation.  Faith's 
words  took  root  and  blossomed.  Intent  on  making 
her  life  a  blessing,  not  a  reproach  to  her  father,  she 
lived  for  him  entirely.  He  had  taken  her  back  to 
him,  as  if  the  burden  of  her  unhappy  past  should  be 
upon  his  shoulders,  the  expiation  of  her  faults  come 
from  him  alone.  Sylvia  understood  this  now,  and 


A    YEAR.  323 

nestled  to  him  so  gladly,  so  confidingly,  he  seemed  to 
have  found  again  the  daughter  he  had  lost  and  be 
almost  content  to  have  her  all  his  own. 

How  many  roofs  cover  families  or  friends  who  live 
years  together,  yet  never  truly  know  each  other ;  who 
love,  and  long,  and  try  to  meet,  yet  fail  to  do  so  till 
some  unexpected  emotion  or  event  performs  the  work. 
In  the  year  that  followed  the  departure  of  the  friends, 
Sylvia  discovered  this  and  learned  to  know  her  father. 
No  one  was  so  much  to  her  as  he ;  no  one  so  fully 
entered  into  her  thoughts  and  feelings ;  for  sympathy 
drew  them  tenderly  together,  and  sorrow  made  them 
equals.  As  man  and  woman  they  talked,  as  father 
and  daughter  they  loved ;  and  the  beautiful  relation 
became  their  truest  solace  and  support. 

Miss  Yule  both  rejoiced  at  and  rebelled  against  this  ; 
was  generous,  yet  mortally  jealous;  made  no  com 
plaint,  but  grieved  in  private,  and  one  fine  day  amazed 
her  sister  by  announcing  that,  being  of  no  farther  use 
at  home,  she  had  decided  to  be  married.  Both  Mr. 
Yule  and  Sylvia  had  desired  this  event,  but  hardly 
dared  to  expect  it  in  spite  of  sundry  propitious  signs 
arid  circumstances. 

A  certain  worthy  widower  had  haunted  the  house 
of  late,  evidently  on  matrimonial  thoughts  intent.  A 
solid  gentleman,  both  physically  and  financially  speak 
ing  ;  possessed  of  an  ill-kept  house,  bad  servants,  and 
nine  neglected  children.  This  prospect,  however 
alarming  to  others,  had  great  charms  for  Prue ;  nor 
was  the  Eeverend  Gamaliel  Bliss  repugnant  to  her, 


324  MOODS. 

being  a  rubicund,  bland  personage,  much  given  to 
fine  linen,  long  dinners,  and  short  sermons.  His 
third  spouse  had  been  suddenly  translated,  and  though 
the  year  of  mourning  had  not  yet  expired,  things 
went  so  hardly  with  Gamaliel,  that  he  could  no  longer 
delay  casting  his  pastoral  eyes  over  the  flock  which 
had  already  given  three  lambs  to  his  fold,  in  search 
of  a  fourth.  None  appeared  whose  meek  graces  were 
sufficiently  attractive,  or  whose  dowries  were  suffi 
ciently  large.  Meantime  the  nine  olive-branches  grew 
wild,  the  servants  revelled,  the  ministerial  digestion 
suffered,  the  sacred  shirts  went  buttonless,  and  their 
wearer  was  wellnigh  distraught.  At  this  crisis  he 
saw  Prudence,  and  fell  into  a  way  of  seating  himself 
before  the  well-endowed  spinster,  with  a  large  cambric 
pocket-handkerchief  upon  his  knee,  a  frequent  tear 
meandering  down  his  florid  countenance,  and  volcanic 
sighs  agitating  his  capacious  waistcoat  as  he  poured 
his  woes  into  her  ear.  Prue  had  been  deeply  touched 
by  these  moist  appeals,  and  was  not  much  surprised 
when  the  reverend  gentleman  went  ponderously  down 
upon  his  knee  before  her  in  the  good  old-fashioned 
style  which  frequent  use  had  endeared  to  him,  mur 
muring  with  an  appropriate  quotation  and  a  subterra 
nean  sob, — 

"  Miss  Yule, '  a  good  wife  is  a  crown  to  her  hus 
band  ; '  be  such  an  one  to  me,  unworthy  as  I  am,  and 
a  mother  to  my  bereaved  babes,  who  suffer  for  a  ten 
der  woman's  care." 

She  nearly  upset  her  sewing-table  with  an  appro- 


A    YEAR.  325 

priate  start,  but  speedily  recovered,  and  with  a  maid 
enly  blush  murmured  in  return,  — 

"  Dear  me,  how  very  unexpected !  pray  speak  to 
papa,  —  oh,  rise,  I  beg." 

"  Call  me  Gamaliel,  and  I  obey  ! "  gasped  the  stout 
lover,  divided  between  rapture  and  doubts  of  his  abil 
ity  to  perform  the  feat  alone. 

"  Gam-aliel,"  sighed  Prue,  surrendering  her  hand. 

"  My  Prudence,  blessed  among  women  ! "  responded 
the  blissful  Bliss.  And  having  saluted  the  fair  mem 
ber,  allowed  it  to  help  him  rise ;  when,  after  a  few 
decorous  endearments,  he  departed  to  papa,  and  the 
bride  elect  rushed  up  to  Sylvia  with  the  incoherent 
announcement,  — 

"  My  dearest  child,  I  have  accepted  him !  It  was 
such  a  surprise,  though  so  touchingly  done.  I  was 
positively  mortified ;  Maria  had  swept  the  room  so  ill, 
his  knees  were  white  with  lint,  and  I  'm  a  very  happy 
woman,  bless  you,  love  ! " 

"Sit  down,  and  tell  me  all  about  it,"  cried  her 
sister.  "Don't  try  to  sew,  but  cry  if  you  like,  and  let 
me  pet  you,  for  indeed  I  am  rejoiced." 

But  Prue  preferred  to  rock  violently,  and  boggle 
down  a  seam  as  the  best  quietus  for  her  fluttered 
nerves,  while  she  told  her  romance,  received  congrat 
ulations,  and  settled  a  few  objections  made  by  Sylvia, 
who  tried  to  play  the  prudent  matron. 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  too  old  for  you,  my  dear." 

"  Just  the  age ;  a  man  should  always  be  ten  years 
older  than  his  wife.  A  woman  of  thirty-five  is  in  the 


326  MOODS. 

prime  of  life,  and  if  she  has  n't  arrived  at  years  of  dis 
cretion  then,  she  never  will.  Shall  I  wear  pearl- 
colored  silk  and  a  white  bonnet,  or  just  a  very 
handsome  travelling  dress  ? " 

"  Whichever  you  like.  But,  Prue,  is  n't  he  rather 
stout,  I  won't  say  corpulent  ?  " 

"  Sylvia,  how  can  you !  Because  papa  is  a  shadow, 
you  call  a  fine,  manly  person  like  Gam  —  Mr.  Bliss, 
corpulent.  I  always  said  I  would  not  marry  an  in 
valid  (Macgregor  died  of  apoplexy  last  week,  I  heard, 
at  a  small  dinner-party ;  fell  forward  with  his  head 
upon  the  cheese,  and  expired  without  a  groan),  and 
where  can  you  find  a  more  robust  and  healthy  man 
than  Mr.  Bliss  ?  Not  a  gray  hair,  and  gout  his  only 
complaint.  So  aristocratic.  You  know  I  've  loads  of 
fine  old  flannel,  just  the  thing  for  him." 

Sylvia  commanded  her  countenance  with  difficulty, 
and  went  on  with  her  maternal  inquiries. 

"  He  is  a  personable  man,  and  an  excellent  one  I 
believe,  yet  I  should  rather  dread  the  responsibility 
of  nine  small  children,  if  I  were  you." 

"  They  are  my  chief  inducement  to  the  match.  Just 
think  of  the  state  those  dears  must  be  in,  with  only  a 
young  governess,  and  half  a  dozen  giddy  maids  to  see 
to  them.  I  long  to  be  among  them,  and  named  an 
early  day,  because  measles  and  scarlatina  are  coming 
round  again,  and  only  Fanny,  and  the  twins,  Gus  and 
Gam,  have  had  either.  I  know  all  their  names  and 
ages,  dispositions  and  characters,  and  love  them  like 
a  mother  already.  He  perfectly  adores  them,  and 


A    YEAR.  327 

that  is  very  charming  in  a  learned  man  like  Mr. 
Bliss." 

"  If  that  is  your  feeling  it  will  all  go  well,  I  have  no 
doubt.  But,  Prue,  —  I  don't  wish  to  be  unkind, 
dear,  _  do  you  quite  like  the  idea  of  being  the  fourth 
Mrs.  Bliss?" 

"  Bless  me,  I  never  thought  of  that !  Poor  man,  it 
only  shows  how  much  he  must  need  consolation,  and 
proves  how  good  a  husband  he  must  have  been.  No, 
Sylvia,  I  don't  care  a  particle.  I  never  knew  those 
estimable  ladies,  and  the  memory  of  them  shall  not 
keep  me  from  making  Gamaliel  happy  if  I  can.  What 
he  goes  through  now  is  almost  beyond  belief.  My 
child,  just  think  !  —  the  coachman  drinks ;  the  cook 
has  tea-parties  whenever  she  likes,  and  supports  her 
brother's  family  out  of  her  perquisites,  as  she  calls  her 
barefaced  thefts ;  the  house-maids  romp  with  the  in 
door  man,  and  have  endless  followers  ;  three  old  maids 
set  their  caps  at  him,  and  that  hussy,  —  I  must  use  a 
strong  expression,  —  that  hussy  of  a  governess  makes 
love  to  him  before  the  children.  It  is  my  duty  to 
marry  him ;  I  shall  do  it,  and  put  an  end  to  this  fear 
ful  state  of  things." 

Sylvia  asked  but  one  more  question,  — 

"  Now,  seriously,  do  you  love  him  very  much  ? 
Will  he  make  you  as  happy  as  my  dear  girl  should  be  ? " 

Prue  dropped  her  work,  and,  hiding  her  face  on  Syl 
via's  shoulder,  answered  with  a  plaintive  sniff  or  two, 
and  much  real  feeling,  — 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  I  do.     I  tried  to  love  him,  and  I 


328  MOODS. 

did  not  fail.  I  shall  be  happy,  for  I  shall  be  busy. 
I  am  not  needed  here  any  more,  and  so  I  am  glad  to 
go  away  into  a  home  of  my  own,  feeling  sure  that  you 
can  fill  my  place;  and  Maria  knows  my  ways  too 
well  to  let  things  go  amiss.  Now,  kiss  me,  and 
smooth  my  collar,  for  papa  may  call  me  down." 

The  sisters  embraced  and  cried  a  little,  as  women 
usually  find  it  necessary  to  do  at  such  interesting 
times ;  then  fell  to  planning  the  wedding  outfit,  and 
deciding  between  the  "  light  silk  and  white  bonnet," 
or  the  "  handsome  travelling  suit." 

Miss  Yule  made  a,  great  sacrifice  to  the  proprieties 
by  relinquishing  her  desire  for  a  stately  wedding,  and, 
much  to  Sylvia's  surprise  and  relief,  insisted  that,  as 
the  family  was  then  situated,  it  was  best  to  have  no 
stir  or  parade,  but  to  be  married  quietly  at  church  and 
slip  unostentatiously  out  of  the  old  life  into  the  new. 
Her  will  was  law,  and  as  the  elderly  bridegroom  felt 
that  there  was  no  time  to  spare,  and  the  measles  con 
tinued  to  go  about  seeking  whom  they  might  devour, 
Prue  did  not  keep  him  waiting  long.  "  Three  weeks 
is  very  little  time,  and  nothing  will  be  properly  done, 
for  one  must  have  everything  new  when  one  is  mar 
ried,  of  course,  and  mantua-makers  are  but  mortal 
women  (exorbitant  in  their  charges  this  season,  I 
assure  you),  so  be  patient,  Gamaliel,  and  spend  the 
time  in  teaching  my  little  ones  to  love  me  before  I 
come." 

"  My  dearest  creature,  I  will."  And  well  did  the 
enamored  gentleman  perform  his  promise. 


A    YEAR.  329 

Prue  kept  hers  so  punctually  that  she  was  married 
with  the  bastings  in  her  wedding  gown  and  two  dozen 
pocket-handkerchiefs  still  unhernmed,  —  facts  which 
disturbed  her  even  during  the  ceremony.  A  quiet 
time  throughout;  and  after  a  sober  feast,  a  tearful 
farewell,  Mrs.  Gamaliel  Bliss  departed,  leaving  a  great 
void  behind  and  carrying  joy  to  the  heart  of  her 
spouse,  comfort  to  the  souls  of  the  excited  nine,  de 
struction  to  the  "  High  Life  Below  Stairs,"  and  order, 
peace,  and  plenty  to  the  realm  over  which  she  was  to 
know  a  long  and  prosperous  reign. 

Hardly  had  the  excitement  of  this  event  subsided 
when  another  occurred  to  keep  Sylvia  from  melan 
choly  and  bring  an  added  satisfaction  to  her  lonely 
days.  Across  the  sea  there  came  to  her  a  little  book, 
bearing  her  name  upon  its  titlepage.  Quaintly  print 
ed,  and  bound  in  some  foreign  style,  plain  and  unas 
suming  without,  but  very  rich  within,  for  there  she 
found  Warwick's  Essays,  and  between  each  of  these 
one  of  the  poerns  from  Moor's  Diary.  Far  away  there 
in  Switzerland  they  had  devised  this  pleasure  for  her, 
and  done  honor  to  the  woman  whom  they  both  loved, 
by  dedicating  to  her  the  first  fruits  of  their  lives. 
"Alpen  Bosen"  was  its  title,  and  none  could  have 
better  suited  it  in  Sylvia's  eyes,  for  to  her  Warwick 
was  the  Alps  and  Moor  the  roses.  Each  had  helped 
the  other;  Warwick's  rugged  prose  gathered  grace 
from  Moor's  poetry,  and  Moor's  smoothly  flowing 
lines  acquired  power  from  Warwick's  prose.  Each 
had  given  her  his  best,  and  very  proud  was  Sylvia  of 


330  MOODS. 

the  little  book,  over  which  she  pored  day  after  day, 
living  on  and  in  it,  eagerly  collecting  all  praises,  re 
senting  all  censures,  and  thinking  it  the  one  perfect 
volume  in  the  world. 

Others  felt  and  acknowledged  its  worth  as  well ;  for 
though  fashionable  libraries  were  not  besieged  by  in 
quiries  for  it,  and  no  short-lived  enthusiasm  welcomed 
it,  a  place  was  found  for  it  on  many  study-tables, 
where  real  work  was  done.  Innocent  girls  sang  the 
songs  and  loved  the  poet,  while  thoughtful  women, 
looking  deeper,  honored  the  man.  Young  men  re 
ceived  the  Essays  as  brave  protests  against  the  evils 
of  the  times,  and  old  men  felt  their  faith  in  honor 
and  honesty  revive.  The  wise  saw  great  promise  in 
it,  and  the  most  critical  could  not  deny  its  beauty  and 
its  power. 

Early  in  autumn  arrived  a  fresh  delight ;  and  Jes 
sie's  little  daughter  became  peacemaker  as  well  as 
idol.  Max  forgave  his  enemies,  and  swore  eternal 
friendship  with  all  mankind  the  first  day  of  his  baby's 
life  ;  and  when  his  sister  brought  it  to  him  he  took 
both  in  his  arms,  making  atonement  for  many  hasty 
words  and  hard  thoughts  by  the  broken  whisper,  — 

"  I  have  two  little  Sylvias  now." 

This  wonderful  being  absorbed  both  households, 
from  grandpapa  to  the  deposed  sovereign  Tilly,  whom 
Sylvia  called  her  own,  and  kept  much  with  her ;  while 
Prue  threatened  to  cause  a  rise  in  the  price  of  station 
ery  by  the  daily  and  copious  letters  full  of  warning 
and  advice  which  she  sent,  feeling  herself  a  mother 


A    YEAR.  331 

in  Israel  among  her  tribe  of  nine,  now  safely  carried 
through  the  Red  Sea  of  scarlatina.  Happy  faces  made 
perpetual  sunshine  round  the  little  Sylvia,  but  to 
none  was  she  so  dear  a  boon  as  to  her  young  god 
mother.  Jessie  became  a  trifle  jealous  of  "  old  Syl 
via,"  as  she  now  called  herself,  for  she  almost  lived  in 
baby's  nursery ;  hurrying  over  in  time  to  assist  at  its 
morning  ablutions,  hovering  about  its  crib  when  it 
slept,  daily  discovering  beauties  invisible  even  to  its 
mother's  eyes,  and  working  early  and  late  on  dainty 
garments,  rich  in  the  embroidery  which  she  now 
thanked  Prue  for  teaching  her  against  her  will.  The 
touch  of  the  baby  hands  seemed  to  heal  her  sore 
heart ;  the  sound  of  the  baby  voice,  even  when  most 
unmusical,  had  a  soothing  effect  upon  her  nerves ;  the 
tender  cares  its  helplessness  demanded  absorbed  her 
thoughts,  and  kept  her  happy  in  a  new  world  whose 
delights  she  had  never  known  till  now. 

From  this  time  a  restful  expression  replaced  the 
patient  hopelessness  her  face  had  worn  before,  and  in 
the  lullabies  she  sang  the  listeners  caught  echoes  of 
the  cheerful  voice  they  had  never  thought  to  hear 
again.  Gay  she  was  not,  but  serene.  Quiet  was  all 
she  asked ;  and  shunning  society  seemed  happiest  to 
sit  at  home  with  baby  and  its  gentle  mother,  with 
Max,  now  painting  as  if  inspired,  or  with  her  father, 
who  relinquished  business  and  devoted  himself  to  her. 
A  pleasant  pause  seemed  to  have  come  after  troublous 
days ;  a  tranquil  hush  in  which  she  sat  waiting  for 
what  time  should  bring  her.  But  as  she  waited  the 


332  MOODS. 

woman  seemed  to  bloom  more  beautifully  than  the 
girl  had  done.  Light  and  color  revisited  her  coun 
tenance,  clearer  and  deeper  than  of  old  ;  fine  lines 
ennobled  features  faulty  in  themselves;  and  the 
indescribable  refinement  of  a  deep  inward  life  made 
itself  manifest  in  look,  speech,  and  gesture,  giving 
promise  of  a  gracious  womanhood. 

As  if  to  sever  the  last  tie  that  bound  her  to  the 
old  home  and  make  the  new  one  her  most  natural 
refuge,  Mr.  Yule  died  suddenly.  So  painlessly  and 
peacefully  that  no  memory  of  suffering,  no  sad  decay 
of  mind,  added  to  the  sorrow  of  those  who  loved  him 
most.  His  last  words  had  been  for  Sylvia,  "  Good 
night,  my  daughter,  and  God  bless  you."  His  last 
kiss  was  given  to  her,  and  she  was  the  first  to  find 
him  in  the  morning  wrapped  in  the  sleep  from  which 
there  is  no  awakening  here. 

Then  the  tender  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  her 
dutiful  affection  had  been  all  in  all  to  him  was  a 
cordial  that  sustained  her,  lightened  her  grief,  and  for 
a  time  made  the  new  loneliness  unfelt. 

Max  was  master  now,  and  Jessie  took  the  seat  Prue 
had  filled  so  long.  Sylvia  wished  it  so,  and  thought 
to  slip  into  her  old  place  again  as  if  nothing  had 
been  changed.  But  it  was  impossible  ;  the  wayward 
girl  was  gone,  and  in  her  place  a  thoughtful  woman 
who  could  not  be  satisfied  with  what  had  fed  her  once. 
Youthful  pleasures,  hopes,  and  fancies  were  replaced 
by  earnest  aspirations,  faithful  labor,  and  quiet  joys. 
She  dreamed  no  more  but  lived,  and  in  holy  living 


A    YEAR.  333 

and  high  thinking  found  the  secret  of  self-knowledge 
and  self-help. 

As  spring  came  on  a  great  longing  for  a  home  of 
her  own  grew  up  in  her,  and  where  should  she  so 
naturally  go  as  to  the  Manse,  still  waiting  for  its 
mistress  ?  When  she  spoke  of  this  Max  inwardly 
exulted  and  Jessie  openly  rejoiced ;  both  feeling  that 
she  would  not  long  remain  content  there  without  re 
calling  its  master.  They  were  right ;  for  Sylvia's 
resolve  had  been  strengthening  slowly  ever  since  her 
father  died,  and  to  test  it  she  went  back  to  the  home 
she  had  made  so  desolate.  April  saw  her  there,  busy, 
quiet,  but  happy,  if  one  might  trust  the  serene  face 
that  seemed  to  brighten  the  closed  rooms  even  more 
than  the  sunshine  she  let  in.  Before  she  left  every 
thing  to  others,  now  she  set  her  house  in  order  her 
self  with  a  loving  care  which  plainly  betrayed  it  was 
for  the  coming  of  some  dear  and  welcome  guest. 

But  for  the  sincerity  of  her  purpose,  the  warmth  of 
her  desire,  the  fidelity  that  never  wavered  from  its 
duty,  the  memories  that  haunted  the  old  house  would 
have  made  it  terrible  to  live  there  alone.  It  was  sad, 
and  with  each  day  Sylvia  longed  more  ardently  for 
the  return  of  the  one  companion  who  had  the  right  to 
share  it  with  her,  the  power  to  make  it  happy,  —  not 
with  the  former  show  of  peace,  but  with  a  sober  hap 
piness  too  genuine  to  be  wrecked  again. 

Hope  painted  a  future  full  of  content ;  for  the  suffer 
ing  of  the  past,  the  hard-won  repose  of  the  present, 
proved  that  there  was  compensation  for  every  loss,  and 


334  MOODS. 

that  out  of  bitter  sorrow  strength  and  sweetness  might 
be  distilled  by  the  Worker  of  all  miracles. 

Faith  came  to  help  her,  as  she  had  come  many 
times  that  year,  confirming  each  step  she  made,  and 
cheering  her  to  climb  on  with  a  brave  heart  and  eyes 
fixed  on  heaven. 

When  all  was  ready  Sylvia  made  a  little  pilgrimage 
through  her  Paradise  Regained,  lingering  in  many 
places  to  relive  the  sad  or  happy  hours  spent  there ; 
and  when  she  came  again  to  the  study,  she  stood  a 
moment,  looking  up  at  the  Fates  with  something 
softer  than  a  smile  upon  her  face,  as  she  said  aloud,— 

"  I  no  longer  fear  you,  pagan  sisters.  I  am  learning 
to  spin  my  own  life,  trusting  to  a  kinder  hand  than 
yours  to  weave  some  gold  among  the  gray,  and  cut 
the  thread  when  I  am  ready  for  a  higher  lesson." 

Faith  entered  as  she  spoke,  heard  what  she  said, 
saw  the  uplifted  look,  felt  that  the  time  she  had  hoped 
for  and  believed  in  had  come,  and  longed  to  share  it 
with  the  other  patient  waiter. 

"  Sylvia,  I  am  writing  to  Geoffrey.  Have  you  any 
message  for  him,  dear  ? " 

"Yes,  this." 

Slowly  Sylvia  drew  from  her  bosom  a  little  note, 
opened  it  and  held  it  before  Faith,  asking  as  a  child 
might  of  its  mother,  "  Shall  I  send  it  ? " 

Only  three  words,  but  Faith's  heart  sang  for  joy  as 
she  answered,  "Yes  !"  for  the  words  were, — 

"  Husband,  come  home." 


ADAM  KEEPS  HIS  PROMISE.  335 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ADAM  KEEPS   HIS   PROMISE. 

I  1ST  a  small  Italian  town  not  far  from  Rome,  a  trav 
eller  stood  listening  to  an  account  of  a  battle 
lately  fought  near  by,  in  which  the  place  had  suffered 
much,  yet  been  forever  honored  in  the  eyes  of  its  in 
habitants  by  having  been  the  headquarters  of  the 
Hero  of  Italy.  An  inquiry  of  the  traveller's  concern 
ing  a  countryman  of  whom  he  was  in  search  created 
a  sensation  at  the  little  inn,  and  elicited  the  story  of 
the  battle,  one  incident  of  which  was  still  the  all- 
absorbing  topic  with  the  excited  villagers.  This  was 
the  incident  which  one  of  the  group  related  with  the 
dramatic  effects  of  a  language  composed  almost  as 
much  of  gesture  as  of  words,  and  an  audience  as  pic 
turesque  as  could  well  be  conceived. 

While  the  fight  was  raging  on  the  distant  plain,  a 
troop  of  marauding  Croats  dashed  into  the  town, 
whose  defenders,  although  outnumbered,  contested 
every  inch  of  ground,  while  slowly  driven  back  toward 
the  convent,  the  despoiling  of  which  was  the  object 
of  the  attack.  This  convent  was  both  hospital  and 
refuge;  for  there  were  gathered  women  and  chil 
dren,  the  sick,  the  wounded,  and  the  old.  To  secure 
the  safety  of  these  rather  than  of  the  sacred  relics,  the 


336  MOODS. 

Italians  were  bent  on  holding  the  town  till  the  rein 
forcement  for  which  they  had  sent  could  come  up.  It 
was  a  question  of  time,  and  every  moment  brought 
nearer  the  destruction  of  the  helpless  garrison,  trem 
bling  behind  the  convent  walls.  A  brutal  massacre 
was  in  store  for  them  if  no  help  came ;  and  remem 
bering  this  the  red-shirted  G-aribaldians  fought  as 
if  they  well  deserved  their  sobriquet  of  "  Scarlet 
Demons." 

Help  did  come,  not  from  below,  but  from  above. 
Suddenly  a  cannon  thundered  royally,  and  down  the 
narrow  street  rushed  a  deathful  defiance,  carrying  dis 
order  and  dismay  to  the  assailants,  joy  and  wonder  to 
the  nearly  exhausted  defenders,  —  wonder,  for  well 
they  knew  the  gun  had  stood  silent  and  unmanned 
since  the  retreat  of  the  enemy  two  days  before,  and 
this  unexpected  answer  to  their  prayers  seemed 
Heaven-sent.  Those  below  looked  up  as  they  fought, 
those  above  looked  down  as  they  feared,  and  midway 
between  all  saw  that  a  single  man  held  the  gun.  A 
stalwart  figure,  bareheaded,  stern-faced,  sinewy-armed, 
fitfully  seen  through  clouds  of  smoke  and  flashes  of 
fire,  working  with  a  silent  energy  that  seemed  almost 
superhuman  to  the  eyes  of  the  superstitious  souls, 
who  believed  they  saw  and  heard  the  convent's  patron 
saint  proclaiming  their  salvation  with  a  mighty  voice. 

This  belief  inspired  the  Italians,  caused  a  panic 
among  the  Croats,  and  saved  the  town.  A  few 
rounds  turned  the  scale,  the  pursued  became  the  pur 
suers,  and  when  the  reinforcement  arrived,  there  was 


ADAM  KEEPS  HIS  PROMISE.  337 

little  for  it  to  do  but  join  in  the  rejoicing  and  salute 
the  brave  cannoneer,  who  proved  to  be  no  saint,  but 
a  stranger  come  to  watch  the  battle,  and  thus  oppor 
tunely  lend  his  aid. 

Enthusiastic  were  the  demonstrations ;  vivas,  bless 
ings,  tears,  hand-kissing,  and  invocation  of  all  the 
saints  in  the  calendar,  till  it  was  discovered  that 
the  unknown  gentleman  had  a  bullet  in  his  breast, 
and  was  in  need  of  instant  help.  Whereupon  the 
women,  clustering  about  him  like  bees,  bore  him 
away  to  the  hospital  ward,  where  the  inmates  rose 
up  in  their  beds  to  welcome  him,  and  the  clamorous 
crowd  were  with  difficulty  persuaded  to  relinquish 
him  to  the  priest,  the  surgeon,  and  the  rest  he  needed. 
Nor  was  this  all ;  the  crowning  glory  of  the  event  to 
the  villagers  was  the  coming  of  the  Chief  at  nightfall, 
and  the  scene  about  the  stranger's  bed.  Here  the 
narrator  glowed  with  pride,  the  women  in  the  group 
began  to  sob,  and  the  men  took  off  their  caps,  with 
black  eyes  glittering  through  their  tears. 

"  Excellenza,  he  who  had  fought  for  us  like  a 
tempest,  an  angel  of  doom,  lay  there  beside  my  cousin 
Beppo,  who  was  past  help,  and  is  now  in  holy  Para 
dise.  Speranza  was  washing  the  smoke  and  powder 
from  him,  the  wound  was  easy.  Death  of  my  soul ! 
may  he  who  gave  it  die  unconfessed  !  See  you,  I  am 
there,  I  watch  him,  the  friend  of  Excellenza,  the  great 
still  man  who  smiled  but  said  no  word  to  us.  Then 
comes  the  Chief,  —  silenzio,  till  I  finish  !  —  he  comes, 
they  have  told  him,  he  stays  at  the  bed,  he  looks 

22 


338  MOODS. 

down,  the  fine  eye  shines,  he  takes  the  hand,  he  says 
low  — '  I  thank  you,'  —  he  lays  his  cloak  —  the  gray 
cloak  we  know  and  love  so  well  —  over  the  wounded 
breast,  and  so  goes  on.  We  cry  out,  but  what  does 
the  friend  ?  Behold !  he  lifts  himself,  he  lays  the 
cloak  upon  my  Beppo,  he  says  in  that  so  broken  way 
of  his  — '  Comrade,  the  honor  is  for  you  who  gave  your 
life  for  him,  I  give  but  a  single  hour.'  Beppo  saw, 
heard,  comprehended ;  thanked  him  with  a  glance,  and 
rose  up  to  die  crying,  *  Viva  Italia  !  Viva  Garibaldi ! ' ': 

The  cry  was  caught  uj5  by  all  the  listeners  in  a 
whirlwind  of  enthusiastic  loyalty,  and  the  stranger 
joined  in  it,  thrilled  with  an  equal  love  and  honor  for 
the  Patriot  Soldier,  whose  name  upon  Italian  lips 
means  liberty. 

"  Where  is  he  now,  this  friend  of  mine,  so  nearly 
lost,  so  happily  found  ? " 

A  dozen  hands  pointed  to  the  convent,  a  dozen 
brown  faces  lighted  up,  and  a  dozen  eager  voices 
poured  out  directions,  messages,  and  benedictions  in 
a  breath.  Ordering  his  carriage  to  follow  presently, 
the  traveller  rapidly  climbed  the  steep  road,  guided 
by  signs  he  could  not  well  mistake.  The  convent 
gate  stood  open,  and  he  paused  for  no  permission  to 
enter ;  for  looking  through  it,  down  the  green  vista  of 
an  orchard  path,  he  saw  his  friend  and  sprang  to  meet 
him. 

"Adam!" 

"Geoffrey!" 

"  Truant  that  you  are,  to  desert  me  for  ten  days, 


ADAM  KEEPS  HIS  PROMISE.  339 

and  only  let  me  find  you  when  you  have  no  need  of 
me." 

"  I  always  need  you,  but  am  not  always  needed.  I 
went  away  because  the  old  restlessness  came  upon 
me  in  that  dead  city,  Eome.  You  were  happy  there, 
but  I  scented  war,  followed  and  found  it  by  instinct, 
and  have  had  enough  of  it.  Look  at  my  hands." 

He  laughed  as  he  showed  them,  still  bruised  and 
blackened  with  the  hard  usage  they  had  received  ; 
nothing  else  but  a  paler  shade  of  color  from  loss  of 
blood  showed  that  he  had  passed  through  any  suffer 
ing  or  danger. 

"  Brave  hands,  I  honor  them  for  all  their  grime. 
Tell  me  about  it,  Adam ;  show  me  the  wound ;  de 
scribe  the  scene,  I  want  to  hear  it  in  calm  English." 

But  Warwick  was  slow  to  do  so,  being  the  hero  of 
the  tale,  and  very  brief  was  the  reply  Moor  got. 

"  I  came  to  watch,  but  found  work  ready  for  me. 
It  is  not  clear  to  me  even  now  what  I  did,  nor  how 
I  did  it.  One  of  my  Berserker  rages  possessed  me,  I 
fancy ;  my  nerves  and  muscles  seemed  made  of  steel 
and  gutta-percha ;  the  smell  of  powder  intoxicated, 
and  the  sense  of  power  was  grand.  The  fire,  the 
smoke,  the  din  were  all  delicious,  and  I  felt  like  a 
giant,  as  I  wielded  that  great  weapon,  dealing  many 
deaths  with  a  single  pair  of  hands." 

"  The  savage  in  you  got  the  mastery  just  then ; 
I  've  seen  it,  and  have  often  wondered  how  you  man 
aged  to  control  it  so  well.  Now  it  has  had  a  holiday 
and  made  a  hero  of  you." 


340  MOODS. 

"  The  savage  is  better  out  than  in,  and  any  man 
may  be  a  hero  if  he  will.  What  have  you  been  doing 
since  I  left  you  poring  over  pictures  in  a  mouldy 
palace  ? " 

"You  think  to  slip  away  from  the  subject,  and 
after  facing  death  at  a  cannon's  breach  expect  me 
to  be  satisfied  with  an  ordinary  greeting  ?  I  won't 
have  it ;  I  insist  upon  asking  as  many  questions  as  1 
like,  hearing  about  the  wound  and  seeing  if  it  is  doing 
well.  Where  is  it  ?  " 

Warwick  showed  it,  a  little  purple  spot  above  his 
heart.  Moor's  face  grew  anxious  as  he  looked,  but 
cleared  again  as  he  examined  it,  for  the  ball  had 
glanced  off  and  the  wholesome  flesh  was  already  heal 
ing  fast. 

"  Too  near,  Adam,  but  thank  God  it  was  no  nearer. 
A  little  lower  and  I  might  have  looked  for  you  in 
vain." 

"  This  heart  of  mine  is  a  tough  organ,  bullet-proof, 
I  dare  say,  though  I  wear  no  breastplate." 

"  But  this  ! "  Involuntarily  Moor's  eye  asked  the 
question  his  lips  did  not  utter  as  he  touched  a  worn 
and  faded  case  han^ino;  on  the  broad  breast  before 

o        O 

him.  Silently  Warwick  opened  it,  showing  not  Syl 
via's  face  but  that  of  an  old  woman,  rudely  drawn  in 
sepia ;  the  brown  tints  bringing  out  the  marked  fea 
tures  as  no  softer  hue  could  have  done,  and  giving  to 
each  line  a  depth  of  expression  that  made  the  serious 
countenance  singularly  lifelike  and  attractive. 

Now  Moor  saw  where  Warwick  got  both  keen  eyes 


ADAM  KEEPS  HIS  PROMISE.  341 

and  firm  mouth,  as  well  as  the  gentler  traits  that 
softened  his  strong  face ;  and  felt  that  no  other  woman 
ever  had  or  ever  would  hold  so  dear  a  place  as  the 
old  mother  whose  likeness  he  had  drawn  and  hung 
where  other  men  wear  images  of  mistress  or  of  wife. 
With  a  glance  as  full  of  penitence  as  the  other  had 
been  of  disquiet,  Moor  laid  back  the  little  case,  drew 
bandage  and  blouse  over  both  wound  and  picture,  and 
linked  his  arm  in  Warwick's  as  he  asked,  — 

"  Who  shot  you  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  I  knew  nothing  of  it  till  that 
flock  of  women  fell  to  kissing  these  dirty  hands  of 
mine ;  then  I  was  conscious  of  a  stinging  pain  in  my 
shoulder,  and  a  warm  stream  trickling  down  my  side. 
I  looked  to  see  what  was  amiss,  whereat  the  good 
souls  set  up  a  shriek,  took  possession  of  me,  and  for 
half  an  hour  wept  and  wailed  over  me  in  a  frenzy  of 
emotion  and  good- will  that  kept  me  merry  in  spite 
of  the  surgeon's  probes  and  the  priest's  prayers.  The 
appellations  showered  upon  me  would  have  startled 
even  your  ears,  accustomed  to  soft  words.  Were 
you  ever  called  '  core  of  my  heart,'  *  sun  of  my  soul.' 
or  '  cup  of  gold '  ?  " 

"  Cannonading  suits  your  spirits  excellently ;  I  re 
member  your  telling  me  that  you  had  tried  and  liked 
it.  But  there  is  to  be  no  more  of  it,  I  have  other 
plans  for  you.  Before  I  mention  them,  tell  me  of  the 
interview  with  Garibaldi." 

"  That  now  is  a  thing  to  ask  one  about ;  a  thing 
to  talk  of  and  take  pride  in  all  one's  days.  I  was 


342  MOODS. 

half  asleep  and  thought  myself  dreaming  till  he  spoke. 
A  right  noble  face,  Geoffrey;  full  of  thought  and 
power ;  the  look  of  one  born  to  command  others  be 
cause  master  of  himself.  A  square  strong  frame  ;  no 
decorations,  no  parade ;  dressed  like  his  men,  yet  as 
much  the  chief  as  if  he  wore  a  dozen  orders  on  his 
scarlet  shirt." 

"  Where  is  the  cloak  ?  I  want  to  see  and  touch  it ; 
surely  you  kept  it  as  a  relic  ? " 

"  Not  I.  Having  seen  the  man,  what  do  I  care  for 
the  garment  that  covered  him  ?  I  keep  the  hand 
shake,  the  '  Grazia,'  for  my  share.  Poor  Beppo  lies 
buried  in  the  hero's  cloak." 

"  I  grudge  it  to  him,  every  inch  of  it ;  for,  not  having 
seen  the  man,  /  do  desire  the  garment.  Who  but  you 
would  have  done  it  ? " 

Warwick  smiled,  knowing  that  his  friend  was  well 
pleased  with  him  for  all  his  murmuring.    They  walked 
in  silence  till  Moor  abruptly  asked,  — 
"  When  can  you  travel,  Adam  ?  " 
"  I  was  coming  back  to  you  to-morrow." 
"  Are  you  sure  it  is  safe  ? " 

"  Quite  sure  ;  ten  days  is  enough  to  waste  upon  a 
scratch  like  this." 

"  Come  now,  I  cannot  wait  till  to-morrow." 
"  Very  good.     Can  you  stop  till  I  get  my  hat  ? " 
"  You  don't  ask  me  why  I  am  in  such  haste." 
Moor's  tone  caused  Warwick  to  pause  and  look  at 
him.     Joy,  impatience,  anxiety,  contended  with  each 
other  in  his  countenance ;  and  as  if  unable  to  tell  the 


ADAM  KEEPS  HIS  PROMISE.  343 

cause  himself  he  put  a  little  paper  into  the  other's 
hand.  Only  three  words  were  contained  in  it,  but 
they  caused  Warwick's  face  to  kindle  with  all  the 
joy  betrayed  in  that  of  his  friend,  none  of  the  impa 
tience  nor  anxiety. 

"  What  can  I  say  to  show  you  my  pleasure  ?  The 
months  have  seemed  very  long,  but  now  comes  the  re 
ward.  The  blessed  little  letter !  so  like  herself ;  the 
slender  slip,  the  delicate  handwriting,  the  three  happy 
words,  each  saying  volumes." 

Moor  did  not  speak,  but  still  looked  up  anxiously, 
inquiringly ;  and  Warwick  answered  with  a  glance  he 
could  not  doubt,  — 

"  Have  no  fears  for  me.  I  share  the  joy  as  heartily 
as  I  shared  the  sorrow ;  neither  can  separate  us  any 
more." 

"  Thank  Heaven  for  that !  But,  Adam,  as  I  accept 
this  good  gift,  am  I  not  robbing  you  again  ?  You 
never  speak  of  the  past,  how  is  it  with  you  now  ?  " 

"  Quite  well  and  happy;  the  pain  is  gone,  the  peace 
remains.  I  would  not  have  it  otherwise.  Time  and 
suffering  have  cured  the  selfishness  of  love,  and  left 
the  satisfaction  which  nothing  can  change  or  take 
away.  Believe  that  I  say  this  without  regret,  and 
freely  enjoy  the  happiness  that  comes  to  you." 

"  I  will,  but  not  as  I  once  should ;  for  though  I  feel 
that  you  need  neither  sympathy  nor  pity,  still  I  seem 
to  take  so  much  and  leave  you  nothing." 

"  You  leave  me  myself,  better  and  humbler  than  be 
fore.  In  the  fierce  half-hour  I  lived  not  long  ago,  I 


344  MOODS. 

think  a  great  and  needful  change  was  wrought  in  me. 
All  lives  are  full  of  such,  coming  when  least  looked 
for,  working  out  the  end  through  unexpected  means. 
The  restless,  domineering  devil  that  haunted  me  was 
cast  out  th'en ;  and  during  the  quiet  time  that  followed 
a  new  spirit  entered  in  and  took  possession." 

"What is  it,  Adam  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell,  yet  I  welcome  it.  This  peaceful 
mood  may  not  last  perhaps,  but  it  brings  me  that  rare 
moment  —  pity  that  it  js  so  rare,  and  but  a  moment 
—  when  we  seem  to  see  temptation  at  our  feet ;  when 
we  are  conscious  of  a  willingness  to  leave  all  in  God's 
hand,  ready  for  whatever  he  may  send ;  feeling  that 
whether  it  be  suffering  or  joy  wre  shall  see  the  Giver 
in  the  gift,  and  when  He  calls  can  answer  cheerfully, 
' Lord,  here  am  I.'" 

It  was  a  rare  moment,  and  in  it  Moor  for  the  first 
time  clearly  saw  the  desire  and  design  of  his  friend's 
life ;  saw  it  because  it  was  accomplished,  and  for  the 
instant  Adam  Warwick  was  what  he  aspired  to  be. 
A  goodly  man,  whose  stalwart  body  seemed  a  fit  home 
for  a  strong  soul,  wise  with  the  wisdom  of  a  deep  ex 
perience,  genial  with  the  virtues  of  an  upright  life, 
devout  with  that  humble  yet  valiant  piety  which 
comes  through  hard-won  victories  over  "  the  world,  the 
flesh,  and  the  devil."  Despite  the  hope  that  warmed 
his  heartfMoor  felt  poor  beside  him,  as  a  new  reverence 
warmed  the  old  affection.  His  face  showed  it,  though 
he  did  not  speak,  and  Warwick  laid  an  arm  about  his 
shoulders  as  he  had  often  done  of  late  when  they 


ADAM  KEEPS  HIS  PROMISE.  345^ 

were  alone,  drawing  him  gently  on  again,  as  he  said, 
with  a  touch  of  playfulness  to  set  both  at  ease,  — 

"  Tell  me  your  plans,  '  my  cup  of  gold,'  and  let  me 
lend  a  hand  toward  rilling  you  brimful  of  happiness. 
You  are  going  home  ? " 

"  At  once  ;  you  also." 

"  Is  it  best  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  you  came  for  me,  I  stay  for  you,  and  Sylvia 
waits  for  both." 

"  She  says  nothing  of  me  in  this  short,  sweet  note 
of  hers,"  and  Warwick  smoothed  it  carefully  in  his 
large  hand,  eying  it  as  if  he  wished  there  were  some 
little  word  for  him. 

"  True,  but  in  the  few  letters  she  has  written  there 
always  comes  a  message  to  you,  though  you  never 
write  a  line ;  nor  would  you  go  to  her  now  had  she 
sent  for  you  alone ;  she  knew  that,  and  sends  for  me, 
sure  that  you  will  follow." 

"  Being  a  woman  she  cannot  quite  forgive  me  for 
loving  her  too  well  to  make  her  miserable.  Dear 
soul,  she  will  never  know  how  much  it  cost  me,  but 
I  knew  that  my  only  safety  lay  in  flight.  Tell  her 
so  a  long  while  hence." 

"  You  shall  do  it  yourself,  for  you  are  coming  'to 
America  with  me." 

"  What  to  do  there  ?  " 

"  All  you  ever  did  ;  walk  up  and  down  the  face  of 
the  earth,  waxing  in  power  and  virtue,  and  coming 
often  to  us  when  we  get  fairly  back  into  our  former 
ways,  for  you  are  still  the  house  friend." 


346  MOODS. 

"I  shall  not  disturb  you  yet.  I'll  see  you  safe 
across,  and  then  vanish  for  another  year.  I  was  won 
dering,  as  I  walked  here,  what  my  next  summons 
would  be,  when  lo,  you  came.  Go  on,  I  '11  follow  you ; 
one  could  hardly  have  a  better  guide." 

"  You  are  sure  you  are  able,  Adam  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  uproot  a  tree  or  fling  you  over  the  wall  to 
convince  you,  you  motherly  body  ?  I  am  nearly 
whole  again,  and  a  breath  of  sea  air  will  complete  the 
cure.  Let  me  cover  my  head,  say  farewell  to  the 
good  Sisters,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  slip  away  without 
further  demonstrations  from  the  volcanoes  below 
there." 

Laying  one  hand  on  the  low  wall,  Warwick  vaulted 
over  with  a  backward  glance  at  Moor,  who  followed  to 
the  gateway,  there  to  wait  till  the  adieux  were  over. 
Very  brief  they  were,  and  presently  Warwick  reap 
peared,  evidently  touched  yet  ill-pleased  at  something, 
for  he  both  smiled  and  frowned  as  he  paused  on  the 
threshold  as  if  loath  to  go.  A  little  white  goat  came 
skipping  from  the  orchard,  and,  seeing  the  stranger, 
took  refuge  at  Warwick's  knee.  The  act  of  the 
creature  seemed  to  suggest  a  thought  to  the  man. 
Pulling  off  the  gay  handkerchief  some  grateful  woman 
had  knotted  round  his  neck,  he  fastened  it  about  the 
goat's,  having  secured  something  in  one  end,  then  rose 
as  if  content. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  called  Moor,  wondering  at 
this  "arrangement. 

"  Widening  the  narrow  entrance  into  heaven  set 


ADAM  KEEPS  HIS  PROMISE.  347 

apart  for  rich  men  unless  they  leave  their  substance 
behind,  as  I  am  trying  to  do.  The  kind  creatures 
cannot  refuse  it  now ;  so  trot  away  to  your  mistress, 
little  Nanna,  and  tell  no  tales  as  you  go." 

As  the  goat  went  tapping  up  the  steps  a  stir  within 
announced  the  dreaded  demonstration.  Warwick  did 
not  seem  to  hear  it ;  he  stood  looking  far  across  the 
trampled  plain  and  ruined  town  toward  the  mountains 
shining  white  against  the  deep  Italian  sky.  A  rapt, 
far-reaching  look,  as  if  he  saw  beyond  the  purple 
wall,  and  seeing  forgot  the  present  in  some  vision  of 
the  future. 

"  Come,  Adam  !  I  am  waiting." 

His  eye  came  back,  the  rapt  look  passed,  and 
cheerily  he  answered,  — 

"  I  am  ready." 

A  fortnight  later  in  the  dark  hour  before  the  dawn, — 
with  a  murky  sky  above  them,  a  hungry  sea  below 
them,  the  two  stood  together,  the  last  to  leave  a  sink 
ing  ship. 

"  Koom  for  one  more,  choose  quick ! "  shouted  a 
hoarse  voice  from  the  boat  tossing  underneath,  freighted 
to  the  water's  edge  with  trembling  lives. 

"  Go,  Geoffrey,  Sylvia  is  waiting." 

"  Not  without  you,  Adam." 

"  But  you  are  exhausted  ;  I  can  bear  a  rough  hour 
better  than  yourself,  and  morning  will  bring  help." 

"  It  may  not.     Go,  I  am  the  lesser  loss." 

"  What  folly !  I  will  force  you  to  it ;  steady  there, 
he  is  coming." 


348  MOODS. 

"  Push  off,  I  am  not  coming." 

In  times  like  that,  few  pause  for  pity  or  persuasion  ; 
the  instinct  of  self-preservation  rules  supreme,  and 
each  is  for  himself,  except  those  in  whom  loVe  of 
another  is  stronger  than  love  of  life.  Even  while  the 
friends  generously  contended  the  boat  was  swept  away, 
and  they  were  left  alone  in  the  deserted  ship,  swiftly 
making  its  last  voyage  downward.  Spent  with  a  day 
of  intense  excitement,  and  sick  with  hope  deferred, 
Moor  leaned  on  Warwick,  feeling  that  it  was  adding 
bitterness  to  death  to  die  in  sight  of  shore.  But 
Warwick  never  knew  despair ;  passive  submission  was 
not  in  his  power  while  anything  remained  to  do  or 
dare,  and  even  then  he  did  not  cease  to  hope.  It  was 
certain  death  to  linger  there ;  other  boats  less  heavily 
laden  had  put  off  before,  and  might  drift  across  their 
track ;  wreckers  waiting  on  the  shore  might  hear  and 
help ;  at  least  it  were  better  to  die  bravely  and  not 
"  strike  sail  to  a  fear."  About  his  waist  still  hung  a 
fragment  of  the  rope  which  had  lowered  more  than 
one  baby  to  its  mother's  arms ;  before  them  the  shat 
tered  taffrail  rose  and  fell  as  the  waves  beat  over  it. 
Wrenching  a  spar  away  he  lashed  Moor  to  it,  explain- 
ing  his  purpose  as  he  worked.  There  was  only  rope 
enough  for  one,  and  in  the  darkness  Moor  believed 
that  Warwick  had  taken  equal  precautions  for  him 
self. 

"Now,  Geoffrey,  your  hand,  and  when  the  next 
wave  ebbs  let  us  follow  it.  If  we  are  parted  and  you 
see  her  first,  tell  her  I  remembered,  and  give  her  this." 


ADAM  KEEPS  HIS  PROMISE.         f  349 


In  the  black  night  with  only  Heaven  to  see 
the  men  kissed  tenderly  as  women,  then  hand  in  hand 
sprang  out  into  the  sea.  Drenched  and  blinded  they 
straggled  up  after  the  first  plunge,  and  struck  out  for 
the  shore,  guided  by  the  thunder  of  the  surf  they  had 
listened  to  for  twelve  long  hours,  as  it  broke  against 
the  beach,  and  brought  no  help  on  its  receding  billows. 
Soon  Warwick  was  the  only  one  who  struggled,  for 
Moor's  strength  was  gone,  and  he  clung  half  conscious 
to  the  spar,  tossing  from  wave  to  wave,  a  piteous 
plaything  for  the  sea. 

"  I  see  a  light  !  —  they  must  take  you  in  —  hold 
fast  —  I  '11  save  you  for  the  little  wife  at  home." 

Moor  heard  but  two  words,  "  wife  "  and  "  home  ;  " 
strained  his  dim  eyes  to  see  the  light,  spent  his  last 
grain  of  strength  to  reach  it,  and  in  the  act  lost  con 
sciousness,  whispering,  "  She  will  thank  you,"  as  his 
head  fell  against  Warwick's  breast  and  lay  there, 
heavy  and  still.  Lifting  himself  above  the  spar, 
Adam  lent  the  magnificent  power  of  his  voice  to  the 
shout  he  sent  ringing  through  the  storm.  He  did  not 
call  in  vain,  a  friendly  wind  took  the  cry  to  human 
ears,  a  relenting  wave  swept  them  within  the  reach  of 
human  aid,  and  the  boat's  crew,  pausing  involuntarily, 
saw  a  hand  clutch  the  suspended  oar,  a  face  flash  up 
from  the  black  water,  and  heard  a  breathless  voice 
issue  the  command,  — 

"  Take  in  this  man  !  he  saved  you  for  your  wives, 
save  him  for  his." 

One  resolute  will  can  sway  a  panic-stricken  multi- 


350  MOODS. 

tude ;  it  did  so  then.  The  boat  was  rocking  in  the 
long  swell  of  the  sea ;  a  moment  and  the  coming 
wave  would  sweep  them  far  apart.  A  woman  sobbed, 
and  as  if  moved  by  one  impulse  four  sturdy  arms 
clutched  and  drew  Moor  in.  While  loosening  his 
friend  Warwick  had  forgotten  himself,  and  the  spar 
was  gone.  He  knew  it,  but  the  rest  believed  that 
they  left  the  strong  man  a  chance  of  life  equal  to  their 
own  in  that  overladen  boat.  Yet  in  the  memories  of 
all  who  caught  that  last  glimpse  of  him  there  long 
remained  the  recollection  of  a  dauntless  face  floating 
out  into  the  night,  a  steady  voice  calling  through  the 
gale,  "  A  good  voyage,  comrades  !  "  as  he  turned  away 
to  enter  port  before  them. 

Wide  was  the  sea  and  pitiless  the  storm,  but  neither 
could  dismay  the  unconquerable  spirit  of  the  man  who 
fought  against  the  elements  as  bravely  as  if  they  were 
adversaries  of  mortal  mould,  and  might  be  vanquished 
in  the  end.  But  it  was  not  to  be  ;  soon  he  felt  it, 
accepted  it,  turned  his  face  upward  toward  the  sky, 
where  one  star  shone,  and  when  Death  whispered 
"  Come  !  "  answered  as  cheerily  as  to  that  other  friend, 
"  I  am  ready."  Then  with  a  parting  thought  for  the 
man  he  had  saved,  the  woman  he  had  loved,  the 
promise  he  had  kept,  a  great  and  tender  heart  went 
down  into  the  sea. 

Sometimes  the  Sculptor,  whose  workshop  is  the 
world,  fuses  many  metals  and  casts  a  noble  statue  ; 
leaves  it  for  humanity  to  criticise,  and  when  time  has 


ADAM  KEEPS  HIS  PROMISE.  351 

mellowed  both  beauties  and  blemishes,  removes  it  to 
that  inner  studio,  there  to  be  carved  in  enduring 
marble. 

Adam  Warwick  was  such  an  one,  with  much  alloy 
and  many  flaws  ;  but  beneath  all  defects  the  Master's 
eye  saw  the  grand  lines  that  were  to  serve  as  models 
for  the  perfect  man,  and  when  the  design  had  passed 
through  all  necessary  processes,  —  the  mould  of  clay, 
the  furnace  fire,  the  test  of  time,  —  He  washed  the 
dust  away,  and  pronounced  it  ready  for  the  marble. 


352  MOODS. 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

AT   LAST. 

~^T~EWS  of  the  wreck  reached  the  Yules  some  days 
-*-^  before  Moor  could  let  them  know  of  his  safety 
aud  Adam's  loss.  The  belief  that  both  were  gone  was 
almost  too  much  for  Sylvia,  and  for  a  week  she  sat 
in  the  shadow  of  a  great  despair,  feeling  that  her  mis 
takes  and  weaknesses  had  sent  them  to  their  death. 

"  I  was  not  worthy  of  either,  and  God  denies  me 
the  reward  I  have  worked  so  hard  to  earn.  I  could 
have  spared  Adam.  I  had  given  him  up  and  learned 
to  see  that  it  was  best.  But  Geoffrey,  my  husband, 
who  had  waited  so  long,  who  hoped  so  much,  whom 
I.  was  going  to  make  so  happy,  never  to  know  how 
well  I  loved  him  after  all  this  pain  and  separation  — 
oh,  it  is  too  hard,  too  bitter  to  lose  him  now ! " 

This  was  all  her  thought,  her  lamentation ;  War 
wick  seemed  forgotten,  the  lesser  loss  was  swallowed 
up  in  the  greater,  and  Sylvia  mourned  for  her  husband 
like  a  woman  and  a  wife,  feeling  at  last  'the  nearness 
and  dearness  of  the  sacred  tie  that  bound  them  to 
gether.  Death  taught  her  in  the  anguish  of  that  hour 
how  impossible  it  was  to  love  any  other  with  the 
passion  born  of  that  pain,  touched  with  the  tender 
memory  of  his  past  loyalty,  the  fervent  desire  to  atone 
by  future  devotion  and  the  sincerest  fidelity. 


AT  LAST.  353 

In  the  midst  of  this  despair  came  the  glad  tidings 
that  Moor  was  safe  and  on  his  way  to  her  from  the 
distant  port  whither  the  survivors  had  been  carried  by 
the  ship  that  saved  them. 

Then  Sylvia  fell  on  her  knees  and  made  a  thank- 
offering  of  her  life,  dedicating  it  with  tears  and  prayers 
and  voiceless  hymns  of  gratitude  to  this  man  saved 
for  her  by  the  friend  who  loved  them  both  better  than 
his  own  life,  and  died  so  gladly  for  their  sake. 

Max  thought  the  joy  would  kill  her,  but  she  came 
out  of  the  room  where  she  had  lain  in  darkness,  look 
ing  like  one  risen  from  the  tomb.  A  peace  beyond 
words  to  describe  transfigured  her  face,  "  clear  shining 
after  rain,"  making  her  silence  more  eloquent  than 
speech,  and  every  hour  seemed  to  bring  new  strength, 
beauty,  and  serenity  to  make  the  wan  and  weary 
body  a  fitter  home  for  a  soul  just  entering  into  the 
world  of  higher  thought  and  feeling  to  which  it  had 
attained  after  much  pain  and  struggle. 

"Go  and  meet  him,  Max.  I  will  wait  for  him  at 
home,  and  give  my  welcome  there.  Come  soon,  and 
tell  him  I  have  no  room  for  sorrow,  my  heart  is  so 
full  of  gratitude  and  joy." 

May  had  come  again  and  the  Manse  wore  its  love 
liest  aspect  to  greet  its  master,  who  came  at  last  and 
alone.  But  not  to  an  empty  home,  for  on  the 
threshold  stood  his  wife,  not  the  wayward  child  he 
wooed,  the  melancholy  girl  he  married,  but  a  woman 
with  her  soul  in  her  face,  her  heart  upon  her  lips,  and 
outstretched  arms  that  seemed  to  hold  all  that  was 

23 


354  MOODS. 

dearest  in  the  world  when  they  clasped  him  with  the 
tender  cry,  — 

"  Thank  God  !     I  have  my  husband  safe." 

They  had  been  together  for  an  hour.  The  first  ex 
citement  was  over,  and  Sylvia  stood  beside  him  pale 
but  calm  with  intensity  of  joy,  while  Moor  leaned  his 
weary  head  against  her,  trying  to  forget  his  great 
sorrow,  and  realize  the  greater  happiness  that  had 
befallen  him.  Hitherto  all  their  talk  had  been  of 
Adam,  and  as  Moor  concluded  the  history  of  the  year 
so  tragically  ended,  for  the  first  time  he  ventured  to 
express  surprise  at  the  calmness  with  which  his 
hearer  received  the  sad  story. 

"How  quietly  you  listen  to  words  it  wrings  my 
heart  to  utter.  Have  you  wept  your  tears  dry,  or  do 
you  still  hope  ? " 

"  No,  I  feel  that  we  shall  never  see  him  again  ;  but 
I  have  no  desire  to  weep,  for  tears  and  lamentations  do 
not  belong  to  him.  He  died  a  noble  death ;  the  sea 
is  a  fitting  grave  for  him,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  think 
of  him  quiet  at  last,"  answered  Sylvia,  still  tearless 
and  tranquil. 

"  I  cannot  feel  so  ;  I  find  it  hard  to  think  of  him  as 
dead  ;  he  was  so  full  of  life,  so  fit  to  live." 

"  And  therefore  fit  to  die.  Imagine  him  as  I  do, 
enjoying  the  larger  life  he  longed  for,  and  growing  to 
be  the  nobler  man  whose  foreshadowing  we  saw  and 
loved  so  here." 

"  Sylvia,  I  have  told  you  of  the  beautiful  change 
which  came  over  him  in  those  last  weeks,  and  now  I 


AT 'LAST.  355 

see  something  of  the  same  change  in  you,  as  if  the 
weaker  part  had  slipped  away  and  left  the  spirit  visi 
ble.  Are  you,  too,  about  to  leave  me,  just  as  I  have 
recovered  you  ? " 

Moor  held  her  close  and  searched  her  face,  feeling 
that  he  hardly  dared  believe  the  beautiful  miracle 
time  had  wrought. 

"  I  shall  stay  with  you  all  my  life,  please  God. 
There  will  be  no  shadow  of  turning  now.  Let  me  tell 
you  why  I  do  not  mourn  for  Adam,  and  why  you  may 
trust  the  love  that  has  cost  us  all  so  much." 

Drawing  his  head  to  its  former  resting-place,  she 
touched  it  very  tenderly,  seeing  with  a  pang  how 
many  silver  threads  had  come  among  the  brown  ;  and 
as  her  hand  went  to  and  fro  with  an  inexpressibly 
soothing  gesture  she  went  on  in  a  tone  whose  quietude 
controlled  his  agitation  like  a  spell. 

"  Long  ago  in  my  great  trouble,  Faith  told  me  that 
for  every  human  effort  or  affliction  there  were  two 
great  helpers,  Time  and  Death.  After  you  left  me  I 
fell  ill,  more  ill  than  you  ever  knew,  dear,  and  for 
days  believed  that  death  was  to  end  all  perplexity  and 
pain  for  me.  I  thought  I  should  be  glad  that  the 
struggle  was  over,  but  I  was  not,  and  longed  to  live 
that  I  might  atone.  While  lying  thus  I  had  a  dream 
which  seemed  to  foreshadow  what  has  come  to  pass. 
I  did  not  understand  it  then,  now  I  do.  You  have  no 
faith  in  dreams,  I  have,  and  to  this  one  I  owe  much  of 
the  faith  that  kept  me  up  in  those  first  hard  days." 

"  God  bless  the  dream  then,  and  send  another  as 
helpful.  Tell  it  to  me,  love." 


356  MOODS. 

"  It  was  a  strange  and  solemn  vision ;  one  to  re 
member  for  its  curious  mingling  of  the  familiar  and 
the  sublime,  one  to  love  for  the  message  it  seemed  to 
bring  me  from  lips  that  will  never  speak  to  me  again. 
I  dreamed  that  the  last  day  of  the  world  had  come. 
I  stood  on  the  cliffs  we  know  so  well,  you  were  beside 
me,  and  Adam  apart  and  above  us.  All  around  as 
far  as  eye  could  reach  thronged  myriads  of  people,  till 
the  earth  seemed  white  with  human  faces.  All  were 
mute  and  motionless,  as  if  fixed  in  a  trance  of  expec 
tation,  for  none  knew  how  the  end  would  come. 
Utter  silence  filled  the  world,  and  across  the  sky  a 
vast  curtain  of  the  blackest  cloud  was  falling,  blottino- 

O'  O 

out  face  after  face  and  leaving  the  world  a  blank.  In 
that  universal  gloom  and  stillness,  high  above  me  in 
the  heavens  I  saw  the  pale  outlines  of  a  word  stretch 
ing  from  horizon  to  horizon.  Letter  after  letter  came 
out  full  and  clear,  till  all  across  the  sky,  burning  with 
a  ruddy  glory  stronger  than  the  sun,  shone  the  great 
word  Amen.  As  the  last  letter  reached  its  bright 
perfection,  a  long  waft  of  wind  broke  over  me  like  a 
universal  sigh  of  hope  from  human  hearts.  For  far 
away  on  the  horizon's  edge  all  saw  a  line  of  light  that 
widened  as  they  looked,  and  through  that  rift,  be 
tween  the  dark  earth  and  the  darker  sky,  rolled  in  a 
softly  flowing  sea.  Wave  after  wave  came  on,  so 
wide,  so  cool,  so  still.  None  trembled  at  their  ap 
proach,  none  shrunk  from  their  embrace,  but  all  turned 
toward  that  ocean  with  a  mighty  rush,  all  faces  glowed 
in  its  splendor,  and  million  after  million  vanished 


AT  LAST.  357 

with  longing  eyes  fixed  on  the  arch  of  light  through 
which  the  ebbing  sea  would  float  them  when  its  work 
was  done.  I  felt  no  fear,  only  the  deepest  awe,  for  I 
seemed  such  an  infinitesimal  atom  of  the  countless 
host  that  I  forgot  myself.  Nearer  and  nearer  came 
the  flood,  till  its  breath  blew  on  my  cheeks,  and  I, 
too,  leaned  to  meet  it,  longing  to  be  taken.  It  broke 
over  us,  but  you  held  me  fast,  and  when  the  bitter 
waters  ebbed  away  we  stood  alone,  stranded  on  the 
green  nook  where  the  pine  and  birch  trees  grow.  I 
caught  my  breath  and  was  so  glad  to  live,  that  when 
the  next  billow  came  in,  I  clung  to  you  longing  to  be 
kept.  The  great  wave  rolled  up  before  me,  and 
through  its  soft  glimmer  I  saw  a  beautiful,  benignant 
face,  regarding  us  with  something  brighter  than  a 
smile,  as  the  wave  broke  at  our  feet  and  receded  car 
rying  the  face  away  to  be  lost  in  the  sunshine  that 
suddenly  turned  the  sea  to  gold.  Adam  was  gone, 
but  I  knew  that  I  had  seen  him  as  he  will  look  in 
Heaven,  and  woke  wondering  what  the  vision  meant. 
Now  I  know." 

For  a  moment  neither  spoke,  for  Sylvia  was  pale 
with  the  mere  memory  of  that  prophetic  dream,  and 
Moor  absorbed  in  reading  the  interpretation  of  it  in 
her  altered  face.  She  helped  him  by  telling  what 
God  and  Faith  had  done  for  her  during  that  long  year 
of  probation,  effort,  and  hard-won  success.  She  laid 
her  heart  bare,  and  when  the  sad  story  reached  its 
happy  end  Moor  stood  up  to  receive  the  reward  she 
so  gladly  yet  so  meekly  gave  him,  as  she  laid  both 
hands  in  his  saying  with  tears  now,  — 


358  MOODS. 

"  I  love  you !     Trust  me,  and  let  me  try  again." 

No  need  to  record  his  answer,  nor  the  welcome  she 
received  as  she  was  gathered  to  the  home  where  she 
no  longer  felt  an  alien  nor  a  prisoner. 

Standing  together  in  the  hush  of  the  pleasant  room 
they  both  loved  best,  Sylvia  pointed  up  to  the  picture 
which  now  replaced  the  weird  Sisters,  as  if  she  hoped 
to  banish  the  faces  that  had  looked  down  relentless 
on  that  bitter  night  a  year  ago. 

It  was  a  lovely  painting  of  the  moonlight  voyage 
down  the  river ;  Max's  last  gift  and  peace-offering  to 
Sylvia.  He  had  effaced  himself  behind  the  sail,  a 
shadow  in  the  light  that  silvered  its  white  wing.  But 
the  moon  shone  full  on  Warwick  at  the  helm,  looking 
out  straight  and  strong  before  him,  with  the  vigilant 
expression  native  to  him  touched  by  the  tender  magic 
of  the  new  sentiment  for  which  he  had  found  no  name 
as  yet.  Moor  leaned  to  look  at  Sylvia,  a  quiet  figure 
full  of  grace  and  color,  couched  under  the  green  arch ; 
not  asleep,  but  just  waking,  as  if  conscious  of  the  eyes 
that  watched  and  waited  for  an  answering  look.  On 
either  hand  the  summer  woods  made  vernal  gloom, 
behind  the  hills  rose  sharply  up  against  the  blue,  and 
all  before  wound  a  shining  road,  along  which  the  boat 
seemed  floating  like  a  white-winged  bird  between 
two  skies. 

"  See,  Geoffrey,  how  beautiful  it  is,  not  only  as  a 
souvenir  of  that  happy  time,  but  a  symbol  of  the 
happier  one  to  come.  I  am  awake  now,  you  see,  and 
you  are  smiling  as  you  used  to  smile.  He  is  in  the 


AT  LAST.  359 

light,  parted  from  us  only  by  the  silvery  mist  that 
rises  from  the  stream.  Could  we  have  a  better  guide 
as  we  set  sail  again  to  voyage  down  the  river  that 
ends  in  the  ocean  he  has  already  crossed  ? " 

"  No.  Death  makes  a  saint  of  him,  may  life  make 
a  hero  of  me,"  answered  Moor,  with  no  bitter  drop  to 
mar  the  sweetness  of  that  memory  now. 

"  Love  and  God's  help  can  work  all  miracles  since 
it  has  worked  this  one  so  well,"  answered  Sylvia,  with 
a  look  Adam  might  have  owned,  so  full  of  cour 
age,  hope,  and  ardor  was  it  as  she  turned  from  the 
painted  romance  to  the  more  beautiful  reality,  to  live, 
not  dream,  a  long  and  happy  life,  unmarred  by  the 
moods  that  nearly  wrecked  her  youth  ;  for  now  she 
had  learned  to  live  by  principle,  not  impulse,  and 
this  made  it  both  sweet  and  possible  for  love  and 
duty  to  go  hand  in  hand. 


THE   END. 


University  Press  :   John  Wilson  &  Son,  Cambridge. 


WORK: 


A    STORY   OF  EXPERIENCE. 


BY 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT, 

AUTHOR  OF  "LITTLE  WOMEN,"  "LITTLE  MEN,"  "AN  OLD-FASHIONED 
GIRL,"  "HOSPITAL  SKETCHES,"  ETC. 


;  An  endless  significance  lies  in  work ;  in  idleness  alone  is  there  perpetual 
despair."  —  CARLYLE. 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS      BROTHERS. 

1881. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873,  by 

LOUISA   M.    ALCOTT, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS:  JOHN  WILSON  &  SON, 
CAMBRIDGE. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEB  PAGE 

I.     CHRISTIE 1 

II.     SERVANT 14 

III.  ACTRESS 34 

IV.  GOVERNESS 56 

V.     COMPANION  .     .     . 92 

VI.     SEAMSTRESS 127 

VII.     THROUGH  THE  MIST 146 

VIII.     A  CURE  FOR  DESPAIR 170 

IX.     MRS.   WILKINS'S   MINISTER 197 

X.    BEGINNING  AGAIN 219 

XI.     IN  THE  STRAWBERRY  BED 244 

XII.     CHRISTIE'S  GALA 257 

XIII.  WAKING  UP 284 

XIV.  WHICH? 309 

XV.    MIDSUMMER 335 

XVI.  MUSTERED  IN 355 

XVII.  THE  COLONEL 384 

XVIII.  SUNRISE 398 

XIX.  LITTLE  HEART'S-EASE 408 

XX.  AT  FORTY  .  .  .424 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS, 
FROM  DRAWINGS   BY  SOL   EYTINGE. 


PAGE 

"  How  doth  the  little  busy  bee  " Vignette. 

Christie 1 

Aunt  Betsey's  Interlarded  Speech 4 

Mrs.  Stuart 18 

Hepsey _ 28 

Christie  as  Queen  of  the  Amazons 42 

Mr.  Philip  Fletcher 56 

Mrs.  Saltonstall  and  Family 63 

"  No,  I  thank  you  " 86 

Helen  Carrol 96 

Mrs.  King  and  Miss  Cotton 134 

The  Rescue 159 

"  C.  Wilkins,  Clear  Starcher  " 165 

Lisha  Wilkins 170 

Mrs.  Wilkins'  "  Six  Lively  Infants  " 179 

Mr.  Power 197 

Mrs.  Sterling 219 

David  and  Christie  in  the  Greenhouse 232 

Mr.  Power  and  Christie  in  the  Strawberry  Bed 250 

A  Friendly  Chat 264 

Kitty 284 

"  One  Happy  Moment " 305 

David 309 

"  Then  they  were  married  " 379 

"  Don't  mourn,  dear  heart,  but  WORK  " 406 

"  She  's  a  good  little  gal ;  looks  consid'able  like  you  "...  419 
"  Each  ready  to  do  her  part  to  hasten  the  coming  of  the 

happy  end  " 443 


WOKK: 

A    STORY    OF    EXPERIENCE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

CHEISTIE. 


CHRISTIE. 

"   A  TINT  BETSEY,  there's  going  to  be  a  new  Dec- 

-^~^-  laration  of  Independence." 

"  Bless  and  save  us,  what  do  you  mean,  child  ?  "  And 
the  startled  old  lady  precipitated  a  pie  into  the  oven 
with  destructive  haste. 

"  I  mean  that,  being  of  age,  I  'm  going  to  take  care 

1  A 


2  WORK. 

of  myself,  and  not  be  a  burden  any  longer.  Uncle 
wishes  me  out  of  the  way ;  thinks  I  ought  to  go,  and, 
sooner  or  later,  will  tell  me  so.  I  don't  intend  to  wait 
for  that,  but,  like  the  people  in  fairy  tales,  travel  away 
into  the  world  and  seek  my  fortune.  I  know  I  can 
find  it." 

Christie  emphasized  her  speech  by  energetic  demon 
strations  in  the  bread-trough,  kneading  the  dough  as  if 
it  was  her  destiny,  and  she  was  shaping  it  to  suit  her 
self;  while  Aunt  Betsey  stood  listening,  with  uplifted 
pie-fork,  and  as  much  astonishment  as  her  placid  face 
was  capable  of  expressing.  As  the  girl  paused,  with  a 
decided  thump,  the  old  lady  exclaimed  : 

"  What  crazy  idee  you  got  into  your  head  now  ?  " 

"A  very  sane  and  sensible  one  that's  got  to  be 
worked  out,  so  please  listen  to  it,  ma'am.  I've  had  it  a 
good  while,  I  've  thought  it  over  thoroughly,  and  I  'm 
sure  it 's  the  right  thing  for  me  to  do.  I  'm  old  enough 
to  take  care  of  myself;  and  if  I  'd  been  a  boy,  I  should 
have  been  told  to  do  it  long  ago.  I  hate  to  be  depend 
ent  ;  and  now  there 's  no  need  of  it,  I  can't  bear  it  any 
longer.  If  you  were  poor,  I  wouldn't  leave  you ;  for  I 
never  forget  how  kind  you  have  been  to  me.  But 
Uncle  doesn't  love  or  understand  me ;  I  am  a  burden  to 
him,  and  I  must  go  where  I  can  take  care  of  myself.  I 
can't  be  happy  till  I  do,  for  there 's  nothing  here  for  me. 
I  'm  sick  of  this  dull  town,  where  the  one  idea  is  eat, 
drink,  and  get  rich ;  I  don't  find  any  friends  to  help  me 
as  I  want  to  be  helped,  or  any  work  that  I  can  do  well ; 
so  let  me  go,  Aunty,  and  find  my  place,  wherever  it  is." 

"But  I  do  need  you,  deary  ;  and  you  mustn't  think 
Uncle  don't  like  you.  He  does,  only  he  don't  show  it ; 


CHRISTIE.  3 

and  when  your  odd  ways  fret  him,  he  ain't  pleasant,  I 
know.  I  don't  see  why  you  can't  be  contented  ;  I  Ve 
lived  here  all  my  days,  and  never  found  the  place  lone 
some,  or  the  folks  unneighborly."  And  Aunt  Betsey 
looked  perplexed  by  the  new  idea. 

"  You  and  I  are  very  different,  ma'am.  There  was 
more  yeast  put  into  my  composition,  I  guess  ;  and,  after 
standing  quiet  in  a  warm  corner  so  long,  I  begin  to  fer 
ment,  and  ought  to  be  kneaded  up  in  time,  so  that  I 
may  turn  out  a  wholesome  loaf.  You  can't  do  this ;  so 
let  me  go  where  it  can  be  done,  else  I  shall  turn  sour 
and  good  for  nothing.  Does  that  make  the  matter  any 
clearer?"  And  Christie's  serious  face  relaxed  into  a 
smile  as  her  aunt's  eye  went  from  her  to  the  nicely 
moulded  loaf  offered  as  an  illustration. 

"  I  see  what  you  mean,  Kitty ;  but  I  never  thought 
on 't  before.  You  be  better  riz  than  me ;  though,  let 
me  tell  you,  too  much  emptins  makes  bread  poor  stuff, 
like  baker's  trash  ;  and  too  much  workin'  up  makes  it 
hard  and  dry.  Now  fly  'round,  for  the  big  oven  is 
most  het,  and  this  cake  takes  a  sight  of  time  in  the 
mixin'." 

"  You  haven't  said  I  might  go,  Aunty,"  began  the  girl, 
after  a  long  pause  devoted  by  the  old  lady  to  the  prep 
aration  of  some  compound  which  seemed  to  require 
great  nicety  of  measurement  in  its  ingredients ;  for 
when  she  replied,  Aunt  Betsey  curiously  interlarded 
her  speech  with  audible  directions  to  herself  from  the 
receipt-book  before  her. 

"  I  ain't  no  right  to  keep  you,  dear,  ef  you  choose  to 
take  (a  pinch  of  salt).  I'm  sorry  you  ain't  happy,  and 
think  you  might  be  ef  you  'd  only  (beat  six  eggs,  yolks  and 


WORK. 


AUNT  BETSEY'S  INTERLARDED  SPEECH. 

whites  together).  But  ef  you  can't,  and  feel  that  you 
need  (two  cups  of  sugar),  only  speak  to  Uncle,  and  ef 
he  says  (a  squeeze  of  fresh  lemon),  go,  my  dear,  and 
take  my  blessin'  with  you  (not  forgettin'  to  cover  with 
a  piece  of  paper)." 

Christie's  laugh  echoed  through  the  kitchen  ;  and  the 
old  lady  smiled  benignly,  quite  unconscious  of  the 
cause  of  the  girl's  merriment. 

"  I  shall  ask  Uncle  to-night,  and  I  know  he  won't 
object.  Then  I  shall  write  to  see  if  Mrs.  Flint  has  a 
room  for  me,  where  I  can  stay  till  I  get  something  to 


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